I Can't Hear You
by Perspex13
Summary: A creepy case in the autumn following Beckett's return to the precinct exposes secrets within the Homicide team. An AU story for a Castle Halloween Bash 2018 Entry.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Finally! This story's been kicking around in my head for a long while. It's about time I got around to writing it. It gets off to a bit of a gory start, but things will calm down quickly.

A few comments: I'm going to endeavor to have this story finished by Halloween, but it's about fifty-fifty on whether I'll make it. I've given up reading other stories to try to get some writing done, and even still I'm finding it difficult with other responsibilities. So, while I'll certainly finish it, we'll hope to have it complete by the 31st.

Also, pay attention to the dates. You'll note that we start with a scene, then jump back in time a little bit. Things should be pretty linear from there.

Finally, it's only through the kindness of the TSA that I have a story to offer. No, seriously. I managed to leave my laptop in a security bin at BWI, only realizing it as my plane took off. The TSA folks found my computer (with the 5K words of this story on the hard drive and not otherwise backed up) and had it back in my hands within two days. So, thanks TSA!

* * *

 **October 24**

Beckett, weary and demoralized, stabbed the call button on the elevator. She'd slept hardly at all – her search was fruitless, her frustration at unsurpassed levels. Worse, she had to cling to her frustration – without it, the grasping gloom of her anxiety might drag her under and leave her completely useless. If that happened, she'd fail Castle, embarrass her team, embolden the Feds, and probably lose her job. So, she marshalled her resolve, imagined what her therapist would advise, and tried to adopt a confident demeanor.

Despite her efforts, Beckett stumbled off of the elevator on the fourth floor, only to crash into one of her teammates after taking a few steps.

"Espo?" she asked, wondering why he and his partner were stopped in the hallway, peering into the bullpen. Standing on her toes to look over them, she followed their gaze only to see her wayward partner at his place beside her desk.

"Castle?" she whispered incredulously.

"Yep," Detective Esposito replied without turning his head. "We spent all God-damned night trying to find the bastard and here he is, taking a nap. Son of a…"

"We were just trying to decide on the most appropriate way of waking him up," Ryan, Esposito's partner, offered. "We can't discharge our firearm in the precinct without pissing off the new captain," he explained, "and no one has an air horn. Hey, maybe somebody's got a whistle," he wondered, swiveling his head to survey who might be able to help them rudely awaken Castle.

"Nah," Espo disagreed with a disturbing grin and evil chuckle. "I know what we do – we get Gates to wake him up. Can you imagine? How'd you like to wake up and the first thing you see is…"

"Is a transfer order breaking you down to Traffic Enforcement?" interjected a voice from behind them.

Each of them froze in place, cursing their fatigue and sloppiness here in the precinct. They hadn't exactly impressed Victoria Gates, the new captain of the 12th Precinct, and Espo's comment wasn't going to help thaw relations.

"No sir," Espo mumbled as he turned in place, looking contrite. Both Ryan and Beckett also turned to face the music.

"Detectives, does this look like an elementary school?" Gates asked. "Or a playground? No. This is a place of professionalism. You all insisted on allowing the writer access to the precinct and your cases. Now, might you actually live up to your titles and _investigate the situation_? I may not like Mr. Castle, but it occurs to me that there might be a reason he could not be located last night and sought refuge here."

Casting each of the detectives one last icy look, Gates removed the possibility of action by striding forward herself. The sharp cadence of her short heels on the floor didn't rouse Castle from his slumber. Somewhat frustrated, Gates paused next to the writer and seemed to survey the desk for something that she could use to create some noise. Then, probably realizing she was treading a similar path to her chastised detectives, she instead reached out and poked Castle's arm.

"Mr. Castle," she barked, "this is a police precinct, not a flophouse. If you insist on insinuating yourself into my precinct, you have to behave with decorum."

Still, Castle didn't reply. Embarrassed by the attention she'd garnered, Gates reached out and shook Castle's shoulder. "Mr. Castle!"

The jostling caused Castle's arm to slip from the desk. Unbalanced, he toppled forward, cracking his head on the floor as his body collapsed in an insensate lump.

With a gasp, Gates knelt at his side, where she was quickly joined by Beckett, with Espo and Ryan hovering behind. "Call 911!" Gates shouted as she and Beckett carefully rolled the writer onto his back and straightened his limbs. A cut on his brow from his tumble from the chair bled profusely, coating half his face and already starting a small, familiar puddle on the floor. Desperate to stop the bleeding, Beckett reached forward flipped back the lapel of Castle's blazer to grab the handkerchief she knew she'd find there. Instead, her attention was drawn to the note sticking out of the breast pocket of his shirt. With a trembling hand, she grasped the note and pulled it free.

" _No_ …," she moaned as she read the note, locking up momentarily before realizing she still needed to staunch his wound. She handed the note to her captain while reaching again for the handkerchief.

" _There aren't many challenges left_ ," Gates read the note aloud as she, too, paled. " _Let's see who can find them first._ "

* * *

 **October 18**

"Oh, Beckett," Castle groaned in indecent delight. "This has _got_ to be the best crime scene to which you've ever brought me."

Sighing at his inappropriate exuberance, Beckett shifted her cruiser into park. But she held her tongue – things with Castle were still a bit raw after this summer. Sure, he was back at the precinct, despite Gates' misgivings. But their partnership – if that's what they had – wasn't close to what it had been before their summer apart and the events that preceded it. Hell, _she_ wasn't even close to what she was a year ago. Everything was so fraught right now, so brittle. Each of them stepped carefully, treaded lightly in recognition of the fragility of their current arrangement. Beckett knew that Castle felt the same way – it's what motivated his extra exuberance and general cheeriness as they tried to recapture what they'd lost.

"Glad to oblige," she offered as she stepped around the cruiser and led Castle to the door of a magnificent, if creepy, Victorian townhouse. The building looked like it could've been pulled directly from a horror movie with its turrets, old-fashioned carriage sconces, and general air of dilapidation. The cloud cover, misty drizzle, and occasional flashes of lightning on the horizon simply accentuated the eerie atmosphere, as did the slightly lopsided jack-o-lantern on the front stoop.

"You rang?" Ryan intoned in a deep voice as they entered the building, earning a delighted fist-bump from Castle and a prim look of disapproval from Beckett.

"Report," Beckett directed, annoyed.

"Your average, nuclear American sat down to dinner at 6:20 this evening," Ryan started while leading Beckett and Castle through a door to the first floor of what was clearly a subdivided building. "They'd spent the afternoon watching a Halloween movie that Mom thought was a little too scary for the kids. So, when they sat at the table and Dad started to carve the roast, she assumed he was playing an inappropriate trick on the kids and tried to distract them." At this point, Ryan paused at the entrance to the kitchen and dining area, where Beckett and Castle could see the meal still sitting on the table as described. "Unfortunately, their youngest looked up," he said as he pointed to the ceiling, from which blood still tricked down the light fixture from the center of an amorphous discoloration, "and let out a scream that scared the neighborhood. I don't think," he speculated, "the kids will ever watch a horror movie again."

Beckett looked grim, but for Castle, this story was a gift, not a scare. He nearly bounded away, heading toward the stairs to see what happened on the floor above.

Waiting at the top of the stairs, Espo corralled the writer and managed to hold him back until the team was assembled. After noting her glare, Castle calmed himself down and waited for the detectives to move into the flat in which the homicide that called them there must've occurred.

The team paused at the large doorway to the upstairs kitchen and dining area, which mirrored the floorplan of the first floor. Unlike downstairs, though, this kitchen table wasn't set for dinner.

"Well," Beckett allowed. "This is new."

"Lanie," Castle called out as he entered the room and noticed the ME hovering near the dining table, "I thought you usually waited until the vic was in the morgue before you opened him up."

"Castle, have a little respect, would you?" Lanie chastised. Beckett nodded in agreement, until her friend continued and made it clear they weren't on the same page. "I'm a professional and only work in a professional environment. You question my professionalism again and it might just be you who gets the on-scene Y-incision."

"Of course," Castle apologized, before he turned his head. He'd meant to inspect the body, but his eyes caught Beckett first. While maintaining her professional focus, she looked wan. Castle, very aware of her health since her shooting, felt himself caught on the horns of an uncomfortable dilemma. Asking if she was alright would certainly earn her ire, but she really didn't look good and collapsing at a crime scene wouldn't do her situation at the precinct any favors.

While trying to decide whether or not to approach his partner, Castle let his eyes fall to the victim. He felt his gorge rise and realized that perhaps Beckett's pallor was fully the result of this grim tableau. The scene was easily one of the most disgusting Castle had ever seen. The victim, spread-eagled on the table, wasn't naked – from the waist down, he was fully clothed in nice slacks, sharp dress shoes, and vibrant (or perhaps garish) socks. But above the waist was a different story. His dress shirt had been torn open, the undershirt sliced open and pulled to the sides. The Y-incision that opened the chest was crude and uneven, looking more torn than cut in some places. The chest showed the trauma from where the breastplate apparently inhibited the efforts of the killer. No effort had been made to stop the flow of blood during the procedure – it had soaked the victim's shirts, pooled on the table, and overflowed onto the floor, where it pooled again before soaking through to traumatize the family below.

The pool had another tributary, one even worse than the chest. For the killer had also performed an amateur encephalectomy on the victim – the top of his head was missing and the brain removed. Again, the killer had made no effort to contain or clean the mess, as the pile of gore and viscera on the floor attested.

"I don't feel so good," Castle confessed, feeling a little green. The fact that none of the NYPD personnel around the room teased him for the confession was testament to the truly disturbing scene.

"Well," Lanie interjected, "you haven't seen the worst part yet." As Castle looked at her, she redirected his attention to the kitchen counter.

The chipped Formica held one horror after another. A reciprocal saw sat there discarded, awash in congealed blood. Next to it was the top of the victim's scull, sitting there like a discarded toupee. And further down the counter was a mismatched collection of Tupperware containers the killer had used to hold the organs extracted by the "autopsy." The realization that vital organs had been dumped into plastic containers that usually housed leftovers and left sitting on the counter hit Castle like nothing else had and left him wondering whether he'd have PTSD whenever he ventured into his own kitchen.

"Any early thoughts?" Beckett asked. Castle turned to listen to the ME's response, very glad for the diversion.

"Mr. Delbruck here," Lanie began, "was dead before he was cut open, so I'd guess the crude cuts and tears are from lack of experience and poor equipment, not from a struggle. Facial trauma and petechiae indicate suffocation, but the hands are free of any trauma. I'll have to get labs back to see if he was drugged, otherwise I'm not sure why there's no sign of struggle."

"Any idea why he was cut up?"

Lanie paused and took a deep breath. It was a move sufficiently out-of-character to fully draw the attention of not only Castle and Beckett, but of Ryan and Esposito, too, who wandered over.

"I… I'm not sure. I'd say the killer," here she paused again, "well, assuming the killer is the same person who performed the autopsy, which you'll have to figure out. Anyway, you might think the killer was looking for something in the body. But if that was the case, he wouldn't have cut open the chest."

"Why not?" Espo asked, confused.

"Because the only organ that appears to be missing is the brain."

"The killer took the brain?" Castle erupted, imagination again engaged. "Our suspect is…"

"… _not_ a hunchback named Egor," Beckett interjected quickly, quashing his fun despite welcoming its effect in breaking the tension.

"It's pronounced Igor," Castle grumbled.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Beckett turned to the rest of her team. "Lanie's got this. Let's have a look around, see if there's anything of note – anything missing, signs of struggle, the usual."

With that, the detectives dispersed and walked around the flat. Castle meandered around, poking and prodding, looking more like a visitor to an open house than an investigator. He'd drift into a room after the detectives had inspected, hands in pocket only until something caught his attention. In the bedroom, he noted the décor and the evidence of an obviously single existence. On the walls and desks were family pictures – the victim had two daughters who looked college-aged, maybe a little older. Castle didn't envy Beckett's responsibility to contact them. The pictures also showed someone who appeared to be the matriarch of the family. It's possible that Mr. Delbruck was divorced, but Castle's bet was that he was a widower. Divorce is no picnic, as Castle knew better than most, but he still found the notion of dying while alone to be a terribly bleak prospect.

Trying to move away from those thoughts, Castle padded into the en suite restroom. It was as Spartan as expected for an older, single gentleman. A bar of soap and a bottle of cheap shampoo/conditioner – in his experience, this was ample evidence that only a man resided here. The medicine cabinet was similarly bare – shaving cream, disposable razors, a few medicine bottles, and an unopened box of bandages. The contents of the cabinet beneath the sink were similarly mundane – extra rolls of toilet paper, a plunger, and cleaning supplies. No great surprise, but it would've been nice to find something overlooked by the detectives, however unlikely that might be.

With a sigh, Castle stood, checked to make sure his cheery façade was in place for Beckett's benefit, and went to find his partner.

* * *

 **October 19**

The next morning found the team at their desks, compiling information to begin adding details to the murderboard. Beckett leveled a baleful eye at the board, perturbed by the paucity of information.

"Let's start with the vic's details," she said with a sigh.

"Steven Delbruck," Esposito called out from his desk. "Age 56. He's lived at that address for the past four years, since his wife died in a car accident. Two daughters, aged 24 and 26. One's married and living in Miami, the other's a grad student at Berkeley. No other relatives."

Beckett jotted some notes on the board, including symbols relating to her notification requirements. "Occupation?" she called out.

"He's a volunteer at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden," Ryan answered, flipping through some forms. "He'd been a transaction attorney at Fox Schiller, left after his wife died. Looks like he's been living on the settlement from his wife's accident and interest income."

"Why no plants?" Castle asked, looking up from the game he'd been playing on his phone. "Seems odd that he's working at a botanical garden but didn't have any plants back at his place."

"Not sure," Ryan answered. "Maybe it was somewhere his wife enjoyed? I'll call BBG when it opens and see if I can get some answers."

"Anything from the accident?" Beckett asked. "If there was a settlement, was there any bad blood from what happened?"

"Doubt it," Ryan answered again, turning to a different set of papers. "A Wegman's driver had a heart attack at the wheel and drifted into her lane. Head-on collision – she didn't have a chance. Wegman's insurance paid out for the accident, but the driver died at the scene, too, so it's not like he lost his job and was looking for revenge. And he was single, so probably no one acting in his stead, either."

"Okay," Beckett sighed. "Let's turn this around. What about the killer?"

"Nothin' from Lanie yet," Espo answered. "She figured it'd be mid-afternoon at the earliest before we heard from her."

"We do have some early returns from CSU," Ryan followed up, trying to be encouraging. "There were prints all over the place – no match in the system yet, but they didn't belong to Delbruck. Looks like the killer didn't do anything to clean up. He didn't even wear gloves when he… operated."

"Ye-uch," Castle grunted. "And no one saw anything? The killer must've been covered in blood when he left."

"While carrying a brain," Ryan added, with a macabre grin.

"The canvas hasn't turned up anything," Beckett interjected, trying to quell the discussion. "But there are still a few neighbors to be interviewed. In the meantime, do we have anything else?" she asked. With only silence as an answer, she sighed again, assigned the grunt-work, and wondered how long Castle would stay in the precinct before the less exciting aspects of the job drove him off.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Thanks for all the support for this odd little story. I've not replied to reviews as I've kept my head down to write in an effort to get this finished by Halloween. I'll keep pushing!

* * *

 **October 22**

Frustration was running high days later, when medical reports (including a proper autopsy report), canvassing notes, and conversations with friends, family, and the Brooklyn Botanical Garden didn't meaningfully contribute to the murderboard. Thankfully, the gruesome nature of the crime scene hadn't leaked, else the press sensationalism would've been another irritant. Still, each team member could feel the chances of a resolution slipping away.

"Detective Beckett," called out Captain Gates authoritatively as she approached and a note extended in her hand. "A call just came in with a… scene… that has some similarity to the case you're working on. I need you there immediately and I need everything you and your team can give." It was a surprisingly direct statement, one lacking outright scorn or snide barbs about Castle's presence. "Your first job is to tell me if you think it's the same perpetrator. Because if it is…"

"… then the Feds will likely step in," Beckett nodded along. Personally, she'd ended up being okay with the last FBI profiler she'd met, but there was no guarantee that Jordan Shaw would draw the assignment. Besides, she didn't need Agent Shaw around to comment on the current fragility of her team or the personal issues challenging her recovery.

Gates retreated with a nod, sure that her message had been received. The team wasted no time in heading to their cars, splitting into the regular pairings for the drive to the address provided by the Captain.

This time, rather than a spooky Victorian townhouse, their drive ended at an upscale building that bore more than a few similarities to Castle's place on Broome Street. Even the doorman situation was similar – enough so for Castle to raise an eyebrow at the doorman who held an elevator for their immediate use.

"Eduardo's a friend," the doorman explained. Castle nodded and smiled before introducing himself and the team quickly. But everyone knew this wasn't the time for a chat, so Castle thanked the man and made a mental note to send him something nice.

A short elevator ride brought the team to the fifth floor, where they followed the sounds to an open door through which they could see their uniformed colleagues. Tracking the low voices, they found themselves in another kitchen, looking at another body.

"No autopsy this time," Castle blurted out, earning a few cross looks.

Lanie strolled in front of the group before turning to nod to the body sprawled on the dining table. "Writer Boy's not wrong," she allowed while stepping toward the body, followed by others. "Since this guy's brain is still where it should be and his chest hasn't been cracked open, my training and years of experience allows to confirm that he hasn't, yet, received an autopsy."

Castle tried to look contrite but still smiled when Espo punched him on the shoulder.

"So," Beckett interjected, "why do we think this might be related to the Delbruck case?"

Lanie answered before turning to point to the body. "Same COD – Dr. Hilltop was suffocated in the same manner as Mr. Delbruck. And the location of the body."

"What about the medicine?" Castle asked while surveying the body.

"What medicine?"

"Pimavanumab," Castle replied. "It was in Mr. Delbruck's medicine cabinet, but it didn't sound familiar."

"It wouldn't," Lanie replied before going over to her bag and pulling out a clipboard. "Pimavanumab is an amyloid antibody in clinical trials for early onset Alzheimer's Disease, agitation, and psychosis. You're sure you saw that in Mr. Delbruck's place, Castle?"

"Yeah," he replied, still inspecting the dead doctor. "The name caught my eye – reminded me of Pipavav, where my accountant grew up. Why?"

"If Dr. Hilltop was prescribing pimavanumab, then he's involved in the clinical trials process," Beckett interjected, anticipating the conversation. "He'd have paperwork in his office about other trial participants he's treating, right, Lanie?"

"Yes," the ME answered. "You think other patients might be at risk?"

"The killer took Mr. Delbruck's brain, but left Dr. Hilltop's body unmolested. That suggests there's something about Delbruck that attracted the killer," Beckett explained. "Now we find out he's taking an experimental drug and the doctor was taken out? We need to contact his other patients just to warn them, but if this is the same killer, we might finally have a peek into what he's doing."

* * *

"Now, this a case!" Castle marveled while Beckett drove them to Dr. Hilltop's office. Less than ten blocks away, they'd still opted to drive, though they left Ryan and Esposito at the crime scene to finish up. "Do you think the whole Board of Directors at pimavanumab's manufacturer is in on the murder, or do you think they have contractors for that kind of thing?"

"What?!"

"Yeah, probably contractors," Castle replied, taking Beckett's interjection as agreement. "After all, there are probably scores of people in the clinical trial. Can you imagine harvesting all those brains? That's a lot of work. Messy, too."

"So, that's your theory? The drug company is what – collecting evidence of inefficacy or poor side effect profiles from their experimental treatment? Seems a little bit…"

"Far-fetched?" Castle interrupted with his Beckett impersonation. "Unlikely? Speculative?"

"No, hackneyed and unoriginal. Seriously, haven't you seen _The Fugitive_? The drug company is always the bad guy. That's too easy and, frankly, I'm a little disappointed you chose such a pedestrian theory," she lamented while shaking her head. "You didn't even try to suggest alien involvement!"

"Humph," Castle complained. "Try to build a plausible theory and get criticized for being outlandish. Try to offer a boring theory and get criticized for being conventional. A guy just can't win," he whined. "Okay, fine, Beckett. You want a more interesting theory? How about…"

"Oh look, we're here," she cut him off with a smirk, appreciating the serendipitous timing that shut down her partner's wilder flight of fancy.

"Nice digs," Castle narrated as they exited the car, his theory-building forgotten.

The partners entered the shiny glass edifice and followed the directory to the third floor, where they followed the signs to Mayfair Physicians, Dr. Hilltop's practice. Upon entering, Beckett sized up the operation and frowned at something she didn't articulate. Approaching the young attendant at the check-in counter, she carefully extracted her badge and flashed it unobtrusively so as to not upset the three patients sitting around the reception area awaiting their appointments.

"My name is Kate Beckett," she said, again not drawing attention to her title. "I need to speak with whoever's in charge of this group."

"I'm afraid Dr. Hilltop hasn't arrived yet," the young woman replied, looking concerned.

Face revealing nothing, Beckett nodded. "May I please speak with whoever's in charge among the physicians who are here right now?"

The attendant nodded, then scurried away, her departure obscured by shelves of medical records. After only a few minutes, a door beside them opened and the receptionist beckoned for them to follow her. A short walk through a ubiquitously beige corridor brought them to the door labeled as the office of Dr. Wilder. Beckett and Castle entered and took the seats facing a large mahogany desk, behind which sat a woman with long, dark hair secured in a low ponytail. She had sharp, grey eyes that observed them carefully. After making a quick assessment of Castle, the doctor switched her gaze to Beckett. The two seemed to scrutinize each other up before the doctor took the initiative.

"I'm Madeline Wilder, Dr. Hilltop's business partner. Anne told me about your courtesy in the waiting area – I thank you for not disturbing our patients," she prefaced her comments, prompting impressed looks from Beckett and Castle that were quickly quashed. "But I still won't release medical records without a warrant."

"Dr. Wilder," Beckett replied in a calm tone. "I need to begin our conversation with some unfortunate news, I'm afraid. Anne probably didn't see it on my badge, but I'm a homicide detective. I'm afraid that Dr. Hilltop was killed earlier today."

"Peter's dead?" she whispered in shock.

"I'm afraid so. We'll have some questions for you, but let us give you a moment. I need to call about the status of the warrant, so we'll just step outside your door for a moment."

The doctor nodded absently, already reaching for tissue with which to dab at her eyes. Slipping out quietly, the partners exited the room and closed the door quietly behind them before stepping down the hallway.

Castle, already curious about why they left the office, became more so as Beckett leveled an assessing stare at him. She studied him quietly for several long moments, until he started fidgeting under her regard.

"Castle, I'm going to do something I didn't ever think I'd do. Two things, actually," she corrected, blowing out a sigh. "I'm going to leave you alone with Dr. Wilder. I want you to finish the interview – you know what I'd ask, what we need to do."

"Where will you be?"

"Back in the car," she answered. "I'll be on the phone trying to get a warrant for Hilltop's records on the pimavanumab clinical trial participants, in case you fail in convincing Wilder to give them to you."

"What?"

"We don't have time to wait for the warrant, Castle. I want you to charm the information out of the doctor. From the way she checked you out, I think she'll be more than amenable to working with you."

"You want me to seduce the doctor?!"

"Not seduce, just charm," Beckett replied curtly, her blush belying her discomfort with this request. "C'mon, Mr. Most Eligible Bachelor, get to work."

"She just lost her colleague!" Castle exclaimed, mentally scurrying to come up with an excuse to shoot down a plan that made him very uncomfortable given the current tension between he and Beckett. "It's a little early to play the ruggedly handsome suitor, don't you think?"

"Making excuses already?" Beckett teased in a tight voice. "Just go see what you can do. Like I said, I'll be trying to get an expedited warrant the usual way, so if your efforts don't go anywhere, we'll just follow that path."

Castle drew in a large breath, held it, then released it as he straightened his shoulders. "Just kept around for my looks," he grumbled in an undertone as he turned, walked down the hallway, and tapped lightly. After Dr. Wilder bade him enter, he flashed a quick salute and re-entered the office.

"Where's your partner?" Dr. Wilder asked.

"She's left to try to accelerate the process of getting a warrant," Castle answered, suddenly deciding to handle this interview differently than envisioned by Beckett. "That's her backup plan in case I can't convince you to release the information voluntarily."

"You can't," the doctor answered resolutely, "and I'm more than a little insulted that you think I'd break my ethical responsibilities so cavalierly."

"That's fair," Castle allowed with a nod. "That's why we're going to do this completely above-board. I'll tell you what happened, what we know, and why I think we don't have any time to waste with a warrant. If you don't agree, I'll leave immediately."

"Tell me what happened," the doctor replied, opting not to reiterate her position and end this interview as quickly as possible.

"Dr. Hilltop was suffocated, either atop his kitchen table or he was moved there after he was killed. The ME is still working on her report, so we'll know the details soon."

"Why the kitchen table?"

"It's a calling card, something that allowed us to connect the killing to one earlier this week. That crime scene was…," he trailed off. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself."

"I know who you are Mr. Castle."

"Then you know I'm not a police officer," he nodded. "I wanted you to have some context. I've been shadowing homicide detectives for three years. I've never seen anything like the crime scene earlier this week. One of Dr. Hilltop's patients was also suffocated and also found on his kitchen table. Unlike Dr. Hilltop, this patient was also the recipient of an amateur autopsy."

"What?!"

"It gets worse," Castle continued with a look of apology. "Whoever performed the autopsy also relieved Dr. Hilltop's patient of his brain."

"You're kidding."

"I wish. So, now you can see why we're concerned. Four days ago, Dr. Hilltop's patient was killed, his body violated, and his brain stolen. Today, Dr. Hilltop was killed in the same way, but without the post-mortem violence. We're very concerned that the attack on your colleague might be related to finding more of his patients. If so, they're in grave danger and the faster we move, the better."

"Can you tell me the patient's name, the one who died earlier this week?"

"Will you protect his confidentiality the same way you've protected Dr. Hilltop's other patients?"

"Of course."

Castle nodded and rolled immediately, as he'd decided he would do. "Steven Delbruck. He was in the clinical trial for pimavanumab."

"I can confirm he was a patient of Dr. Hilltop's," the doctor replied while looking torn. "But I'm afraid I still can't release any information for our other patients."

Castle nodded again, still not defeated. Instead, he turned to the usual questions, asking the follow-up after every negative response from Dr. Wilder: "Had Dr. Hilltop received any threats? Had any violent complaints been lodged with Mayfair Physicians? Were there any unsavory characters lurking about lately? Were there any disgruntled ex-employees, or unfortunate patient outcomes that might've invited reprisals from patients or their friends or families?"

The battery of questions unsettled Dr. Wilder, leaving her looking much less confident than at the beginning of their conversation. But she still didn't offer to release the information even after working through her answers.

Finally, Castle turned to his last option. "Dr. Wilder, I said I'd leave if you remained uncomfortable in identifying any of Dr. Hilltop's other patients in the pimavanumab clinical trial. Before then, may I ask for a compromise measure? Would you please call those patients? If we can confirm they're currently alright, then we can wait for the warrant." Not wishing to overplay his request, he didn't articulate what might be implied if someone couldn't be contacted.

Dr. Wilder studied Castle carefully, then nodded slowly.

* * *

Castle burst through the building's doors, nearly bowling over several people as he shot out onto the sidewalk. The sudden movement immediately caught Beckett's attention. She cut her phone call and fired up the cruiser, unlocking the doors just as Castle yanked the door open.

"Hilltop has a patient who lives alone and couldn't be reached. Everyone else was accounted for. But one guy didn't show for work today and couldn't be reached at his home number," he panted while handing to Beckett a bright yellow post-it note, on which was scrawled an address.

* * *

Beckett's cruiser power-slid to a crooked stop in the mouth of an alley next to a dumpy brick building that looked like it should've been condemned long ago. Bolting out of the car, she only saw Ryan's retreating back as her two colleagues charged inside, unwilling to wait even another ten seconds for Beckett to catch up. Per her request, Castle followed at a more sedate pace, though he didn't stay in the car as she would've preferred.

Instead, Castle walked past the elevator and instead climbed the rickety stairs, consoling himself with the thought that he might be the one who stopped the fleeing suspect from escaping that way. After two flights, though, he was convinced he was far more likely to catch a tetanus infection than a bad guy. Judiciously avoiding the hand-rail or any exposed metal, he hastened his pace to the fourth floor, growing concerned that he was huffing a bit by the time he arrived.

Sounds of a struggle led him quickly down the hallway to an open door. Looking inside, he saw both Ryan and Esposito wrestling a tall, pallid, lanky man to the ground. The suspect must be stronger than he looked, Castle thought as he watched the commotion, until he realized that the suspect was coated in blood, which made him slippery. This, inevitably, prompted Castle to turn his gaze toward the kitchen table, where he saw another prone body.

Beckett stood between the table and her team members, weapon drawn as she ensured the suspect would go down if he were lucky enough to slip away from Ryan and Esposito. Being careful to step well around her, Castle circled slowly to approach the kitchen table.

Again, the body had been subjected to an amateur autopsy. But while the chest was exposed and opened, the victim's cranium was almost intact. From the saw on the floor and the wide line across the victim's forehead, it was clear that the detectives arrived in time to interrupt the 'procedure.'

"Beckett, a little help!" Ryan called out. Chastising himself for his distraction, Castle turned to lend assistance, but it was unnecessary. Esposito and Ryan had the suspect pinned – the call had been for Beckett to apply the cuffs. She holstered her weapon and approached with caution, before reaching out quickly to grab the suspect's wrist. She applied the cuffs expertly, nodding in satisfaction at the collar before looking at her hands in disgust, grimacing at the transferred blood she'd contacted on the suspect's wrists.

Castle had just handed her a handkerchief when the cavalry arrived. "NYPD!" shouted the uniformed officers as they arrived, only for Esposito to take command of the situation, handing off the suspect for transport back to the precinct and stationing others at the doors. Ryan, meanwhile, grabbed several other uniforms and tasked them with canvassing the other apartments of the building to see what they could learn about the unfortunate resident currently sprawled on the kitchen table.

Castle, superfluous, returned to his inspection of the victim. Clearly, this victim – Gene Kemp, according to a neighbor – wasn't as well-off as the first victim, Delbruck. The apartment was a testament to getting by on a limited income – the ancient television sat perched upon a plank of wood supported by cinderblocks. The kitchen table looked like it was salvaged and barely had the wherewithal to support the weight of Kemp's body. The dirty dishes in the sink were all mismatched, several pieces bearing chips or cracks that testified to a long, rough life.

Though it was probably unnecessary, given how they found Kemp, Castle borrowed some evidence gloves from Beckett and located the bathroom. Here, he learned two things: first, that Kemp was not nearly as neat as Delbruck – the bathroom was beyond disgusting. But, of more relevance to the case, Castle also found a yellow prescription bottle with half-a-month's supply of what he suspected was pimavanumab.

Leaving the bottle where it was, Castle returned to the kitchen, where some lab techs were scurrying around placing equipment. Lanie left them to their work, focusing instead on the body.

"You'll note that the technique has improved," she said as she pointed to the sternum. And, indeed, this time there were no jagged cuts or tears – the Y-incision was relatively clean. Also of note was that the victim had been stripped above the waist this time. Looking again at the saw on the floor, Castle noted that it was new and specialized – a bone saw, probably, and one that the suspect must've brought with him, since it was far too expensive to fit in with Kemp's apparent lifestyle.

"Looks like he had proper tools this time," Beckett, unsurprisingly, followed Castle's thought, though she nodded toward the table rather than the floor. There beside the body rested the "cracker" and snips Lanie herself would use to work through the breastbone and ribs of one of her patients.

"His tools are better than mine," Lanie complained lightly. "Newer, at least. And based on a quick look, he used the tools the right way. He's still a novice, obviously, but he's learning."

This assessment made Beckett frown. "Could his work here be explained by learning from Delbruck, or do you think he's had other practice since then?"

Lanie took several long moments to inspect Kemp's body before sighing and straightening. "He's either a quick study or there's another vic out there somewhere."

"We'll keep pushing on the warrant for Hilltop's files," Beckett replied as she turned to her partner. After an awkward pause, she forged ahead. "Castle, will you call Dr. Wilder, thank her for the lead, and ask her to set aside the files we'll need? We should have a warrant within a few hours. We'll run that down before we question the suspect."

"I think that's a call you should make," Castle replied, again uncomfortable with Beckett's presumption about his connection with the doctor. "I'll probably say something I shouldn't."

"But you're the one she'd like to hear from."

Beckett might've seemed calm about this situation, but Lanie was not. She whipped her head around to stare at Castle, incensed about the possibility of him pursuing someone else, especially during a case.

"I didn't take your advice to flirt with her," Castle replied, updating Beckett and defending himself in the same breath. "We had a reasonable conversation about what was happening and she agreed to check on Hilltop's patients."

"Oh," Beckett replied, looking surprised but pleased. "Okay, I'll give her a call after Lanie finishes her initial review."

After shooting each of them an odd look, Lanie turned back to calling out her observations, slowly circling the body. Though she was attentive, Castle could tell Beckett was anxious to get moving. She fidgeted, moved too sharply, and resolutely refused to look at the door; the last was a dead giveaway for how desperately she wanted to get to the warrants and the suspect. Finally, even Lanie picked up on Beckett's mood, and drew her initial assessment to an end.

"I'll make sure you get my report as soon as it's ready," Lanie promised while making a shooing gesture towards the door. "Now you get moving and make sure we don't find any more autopsies that weren't performed by Perlmutter or me."

* * *

"I can drive," Castle offers, hoping her distraction will lead her consent. As always, his ploy failed.

"No need," Beckett replied with a smirk, disconnecting her call and lowering the cellphone from her ear. "Dr. Wilder is copying the files for us and a uniform will meet us at her office with the warrant," she explained as she unlocked her cruiser and opened the driver's door, looking smug. "And I got a text from Espo – we're gonna let the suspect cool his heels in Holding for the night and take a run at him in the morning."

"You think that'll work?" Castle asked after sliding into the cruiser, adjusting his derriere over the pesky busted spring in the passenger seat, and belting in. "I get that suspects are usually a bit more pliable after a night in lock-up, but this guy, he seems different."

"We haven't even spoken to him. In fact, you've barely seen him," Beckett replied with a cocked head. "What makes you think he's different?"

"Think about the kind of nerve it would take to walk into someone else's house, kill them, then lay them out on a table and perform an impromptu surgery – with power tools! It's loud, it's really messy, and it's really, _really_ gross. But none of that bothered this guy. If he can deal with that, then I'd be surprised if sleeping on a lumpy cot with snoring neighbors would put him off his game."

"Maybe," Beckett allowed while maneuvering out of her less-than-regulation parking job. "But you'd be surprised. Sometimes people who are remarkably strong in one dimension are surprisingly weak in others."

Even as she said it, Beckett realized that her comment applied to her at least as much as anyone else. And as she realized it, her voice dropped and cadence changed, clearly drawing Castle's attention to her thoughts. Beckett's grip on the steering wheel tightened and she flinched, increasing her focus on the road in an effort to move past her comment.

Castle noticed both her comment and her white knuckles. Recognizing signs of her discomfort, he turned his head to look out the passenger window. The motion, and his silence, prompted a relieved smile from his partner that he couldn't see.

"So, Castle," Beckett interjected a few moments later, glad to have the opportunity to change the subject and to turn to a happier topic. "Did my invite to your Halloween Party get lost?"

Castle chuckled, turning back to her. "Sorry, partner, no party this year. You'll have to find another excuse to break out your naughty nurse outfit. I suppose I could oblige, if you…"

"No, thanks, Castle, I'm good," she replied primly, though he didn't miss the playful look in her eye.

"A good nurse? Not quite as exciting, but I suppose it could still work," he allowed, exaggerating a pensive look while stroking his chin in contemplation.

"No, you goof, I mean I don't need a costume opportunity," she replied with a huff. "Why no party?"

"Too much going on," he answered quickly. "A good party needs lots of planning, and I was busy with… Alexis this summer."

Just as she had done earlier, Castle realized only as he was speaking that what he said conveyed a bit more insight than he'd planned. Yeah, he was plenty busy this summer, but it was working on Beckett's case and trying to figure out where she was, not anything to do with Alexis.

And, just as he'd done earlier, Beckett extended the courtesy of pretending not to notice the comment or what it revealed.

 _Someday_ , Castle thought to himself as he turned again to look out the side window, _we're actually going to have to talk about what happened this summer and how – if – we can go forward._


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: I've mentioned before how lucky we are to have the Dustjackets site, which is a great resource for writers. I've been spending some time there lately, which you'll see in this and future chapters of this story. A big thanks to the folks who put it together but please don't blame them for what I'm about to do with those transcripts...

* * *

 **October 23**

Castle strode confidently into the Homicide bullpen, this time with a cardboard tray of warm caffeine for the full team rather than a single cup for Beckett.

"My man!" Esposito greeted him while extending a hand. "About time you started bringing coffee for the rest of us."

"I heard you're taking the first shot at the suspect," Castle replied. "I figured a good jolt might help get you in the mood."

"Yeah, I've heard Espo needs some extra stimulants to be effective," Detective Roselyn Karpowski snarked as she walked by, earning an indignant look from Esposito and a sharp bark of laughter from his partner.

"Never have, never will," Esposito bragged to recover some ground, though the grins and snickers persisted, much to his disgust. He grabbed his coffee a little more forcefully than necessary, then corralled his partner to prep while some uniformed officers brought up the suspect from Holding.

Beckett, instead of waiting in the observation room, took a seat at her desk to check on some forms while they waited for the suspect to arrive. As usual, Castle lowered himself into the seat beside her.

"Did I miss anything interesting last night?" he asked, referring to his decision to head home from Dr. Wilder's office. It had been getting late, the only thing left for the night had been paperwork, and he instead wanted to make a nice dinner for Alexis and his mother.

"Nothing but the paperwork that frightens you so badly," she replied, still wearing a smile. "Hey, maybe that'll be my costume the next time you host your Halloween party. I'll come dressed as a form NY16.3.5A."

"That does sound pretty scary," Castle allowed. "But as a single form wouldn't cover much, I'm willing to risk it if you are."

Beckett just smirked and shook her head, not looking to engage but happy to have some light, expected banter in the morning. In some ways it was more familiar than the coffee.

"So, do we even know who this guy is?" Castle asked.

"No," Beckett replied, blowing out some air in resignation. "He didn't have ID or anything that tied him to the area like a hotel card key. And his prints didn't turn up in the system."

"I guess that's not too much of a surprise," Castle replied while his eyes lifted and he started tracking Captain Gates as she rose and exited her office. As relations between them were still frosty, Castle tried to keep an eye on her when he was in the precinct. It baffled him, really, why he couldn't communicate with her. But the charm that came to him so easily seemed to flee at her approach, leaving him a stumbling, bumbling fool who only seemed to reinforce her already low opinion of him. It reminded him far too much of his interactions with Mrs. Leachman back in fourth grade. He'd even looked her up and was shocked to see that the old battle axe was still alive – he was convinced that she'd died and been reincarnated as Captain Gates, even if the timing didn't quite work out.

Beckett followed his eyes to see him watching the Captain. "Don't worry, Castle, she's not coming for you. She's heading for her usual cup of coffee, just on schedule. But did you know that she refuses to use the machine you got us?"

"What?"

"Yeah, watch her. She does this every morning – she'll walk to the elevator, turn toward the kitchen, look at your machine, then take the stairs down to the third floor."

"She hates me that much?" he asked, wondering how had dug a hole this deep already.

"I don't think so," Beckett mused. "She plays it off that way, but I think she doesn't know how to use the machine and doesn't want to ask."

"Huh," Castle replied, thinking about this. It made sense. Maybe Gates didn't want to appear anything less than authoritative. Maybe she resented a private gift she saw as an ethical violation. Or, maybe, she just didn't like not knowing how to use the machine. The first two reasons he couldn't address, but maybe he could do something about the third…

The ding of the arriving elevator recalled Castle from his musing and caught Beckett's attention, too. Two uniforms emerged from the elevator, both to the side and slightly trailing the handcuffed suspect they'd arrested yesterday for what's become known within the precinct as the "ME Madman murders." Gates _hated_ the name and had been quick to try to stamp it out, lest the media pick up on it. Lanie hated the name even more, since it impugned her profession.

The suspect himself was a creepy looking everyman. A few inches shorter than Castle, he had dark, almost black hair that was desperately in need of a good wash and trim. His sallow complexion, hooked nose, and beady, dark eyes made him look like he should be teaching potions in the basement of a castle in Scotland.

Most notable, though, was his demeanor. He looked like he was walking down the street of his own volition, not strolling towards an interrogation room while cuffed. As Castle predicted, it didn't look like his night in Holding had done anything to dent his confidence.

The only potential flaw in this assessment came when the suspect tripped. He started to go down and with his hands cuffed, he was in for a hard landing. Luckily, though, the uniforms were ready for this possibility, and a nearby Gates was quick to assist. After all, an injury suffered while in police custody – especially while cuffed – could lead to a very lucrative civil suit, not to mention fouling prosecution for the case at issue. So, those nearby were diligent in stopping the suspect's fall and returning him, despite much jostling, gently to his feet.

"Thanks, ma'am… er, sir," Officer Garr said to Gates. As a transplanted southerner, poor Garr had had a hell of a time overcoming his upbringing to refer to Gates by her preferred "sir," rather than "ma'am." He'd been called out several times already, and looked to be expecting another dressing down. To his good fortune, Gates either didn't want to do so in front of the suspect or recognized his effort in changing a long-held habit. Either way, she nodded, stepped aside, and watched the officers deliver the suspect to the interrogation room.

"Ready to watch the boys get some answers?" Beckett asked Castle as they both turned from the scene.

* * *

By the time Beckett and Castle reached the observation room, the suspect was in Interrogation and cuffed to the table. Esposito and Ryan were letting him stew for a bit, using the old trick that isolation in the foreboding room would loosen the suspect's tongue. Again, Castle was skeptical.

After five minutes, during which the suspect looked supremely at ease, Esposito and Ryan made their entrance. Both appeared stoic and unapproachable. They sat at their side of the table, each placing a manila folder on the table as threatened fodder for questioning.

"There aren't many challenges left," the suspect said with a smirk, breaking the silence, "so I hope this'll be one, even though it doesn't look promising. Who's gonna start, the liar or the criminal?"

Beckett was impressed that neither Espo nor Ryan responded to this goading from the suspect. Which was good, because Gates had just entered the observation room, much to Castle's concern.

"For the purposes of the recording," Ryan said, resuming the interrogation while Espo sat and leveled a baleful stare at the suspect, "you have affirmatively rejected counsel and chosen to represent yourself. Is that correct?"

"Ah, so the liar leads off the inquisition," the suspect replied. "Yes, Honeymilk, I understand that I have access to counsel and have chosen to forego the charade."

"Mister…," Ryan trailed off, realizing they didn't yet have a name for the suspect. Worse, the suspect seems to have picked up on one of Ryan's unfortunate nicknames. Interested in addressing this imbalance, he asked "What should I call you?"

"My name is Kenneth Dunn," the suspect replied while cutting his eyes at the one-way mirror behind which he suspected interested parties were watching.

"Mister Dunn," Ryan replied, surprised the suspect offered his name so easily after refusing to provide it during the booking process, "we need to ensure that you understand your rights to counsel. If your decision to represent yourself is based on the belief that…"

"Look, Liar, I understand my rights. I understand the system. I don't need your counsel and I don't want your counsel," Dunn offered resolutely. "Now, can we move this along? I'm getting bored already."

"Mister Dunn, I assure you we've been truthful about your access to counsel…"

"But you haven't been truthful to others, have you, Liar?" Dunn interrupted. Leaning forward, he ignored Espo's stare and engaged directly with Ryan. "You've got all these saps at the precinct fooled, don't you, Liar? They see your natty clothes, your obsequious demeanor and write you off as inconsequential, don't they?"

"Mister Dunn," Ryan interrupted, attempting to draw the discussion back to the homicides. "You've been arrested on very serious charges. We need to talk about what happened to Delbruck, Hilltop, and Kemp."

"No, I don't think so. How about we talk about Whelan, Shannon, and O'Doul?"

When Ryan didn't follow up, Esposito finally broke his stare at Dunn and turned to his partner, only to see an unrecognized mix of anger, shame, and… fear?

* * *

"What's going on?" Beckett though aloud within the observation room. "Who are Whelan, Shannon, and O'Doul?"

Having posed her questions rhetorically, Beckett was surprised when Gates answered.

"Detective Ryan participated in some undercover operations prior to joining your team, Detective Beckett," she explained carefully. "It would seem that your Homicide suspect is also surprisingly informed about our Organized Crimes operations."

"Do we need to put the brakes on this interrogation?"

"No. Better to keep him talking before we assess what Dunn knows and how. Hopefully, Ryan will keep him talking. Then we can follow up on the other charges the suspect's apparently begging for."

* * *

"What did you say?" Ryan finally whispered harshly.

"Is he always like this?" Dunn asked conversationally as he turned to face Espo. "Seriously, you'd think a cop would be a better actor. Though I suppose he was a good enough liar to get into Siobahn's pants. She must be pretty thick, or pretty desperate."

"Shut up!" Ryan shouted as he stood abruptly, his sharp actions sending his chair flying out behind him. "You don't know a thing about her!"

"Aw, isn't that sweet?" Dunn jeered in reply. "You seem to care an awful lot about someone you haven't called. Just love 'em and leave 'em, eh, Fenton?"

"You bastard, I'll…," Ryan started to growl before Espo grabbed his bicep and pulled him back down into his chair. Still surprised by his partner's uncharacteristic outburst, Esposito decided he'd take the lead on the interrogation to allow Ryan some time to regroup.

"Mister Dunn," Espo began, trying to bring the proceedings back under control, "where were you on the October 18th?"

The suspect turned his attention back to Esposito and focused on him with an odd intensity, head cocked and eyes bright.

"Mister Dunn," Espo prompted.

Dunn continued to stare at Espo until it looked like the detective was going to ask yet again.

"On the 18th?" Dunn finally replied, sitting back in his chair and stoking his chin. "That was a bad day," he ruminated, drifting in memories not even a week old. "Things had been rough for a while. My fiancé started acting strange. Disappearing at odd hours, and she couldn't look me in the eye."

"What's your fiancé's name," Esposito asked, while Ryan sat mute and fuming at his side.

"Sonia."

Esposito blinked, then started to talk, but paused again. He pushed back a growing sense of unease and attributed the chill than ran down his spine to simple coincidence.

"Where is Sonia, Mr. Dunn?" Ryan finally spoke again, breaking into the flow of the interrogation to pursue a lead that he expected to lead to yet another victim.

"Don't worry, Fenton, she's fine. Well, as fine as she can be in prison, but she's still breathing."

* * *

"What the hell is going on?" Beckett asked again within the observation room, marveling at how awry the proceedings have gone. "I guess 'Fenton' was Ryan's name while undercover, but who's Sonia?"

"We need a last name," Gates answered. "But from the look of Detective Esposito, he already knows whoever Dunn is talking about."

* * *

"So, Mr. Dunn, what were you doing on the 18th?" Espo repeated himself.

"Well, I finally figured out what was going on, what my fiancé had done," Dunn confessed in a low voice. "So I went home and I packed a bag. And then I grabbed my passport, cleared out my savings account. I was ready to abandon everything because I couldn't picture a life without her."

Dunn finished his answer and sat quietly, looking expectant. Ryan, confused, was about to follow-up when he instead turned to his partner. Rather than impatience at the seeming non-sequitur from the suspect, Espo showed only dazed shock.

"I still remember what she was wearing," Dunn interjected again, recalling Ryan's attention. "She had this great dress on – she was always into labels, you know?" he asked rhetorically, pitching his words to Ryan. "It was for dancing. We went salsa dancing on Friday nights."

The sound of crumpling paper commanded the attention of those in both the Interrogation and observation rooms. Esposito, looking enraged, was glaring at the suspect while his hands on the table were crumpling the papers in the manila file folder.

"Oh, wait," Dunn continued with a laugh. "I'm sorry, I was confused. _I_ wasn't the one who was ready to throw away a career in law enforcement, to turn my back on all the _duty_ and _honor_ I'd choked on in the Forces. That was you, wasn't it, Detective Sergeant Esposito, Sir?" he ended with another bark of laughter and a mocking salute.

"Fuck you," Espo seethed from his side of the table, where it looked like it was taking all his willpower to refrain from leaping at the suspect.

"You know this is why he only goes for a certain type of woman, right?" Dunn asked Ryan while he tapped on his temple, completely ignored Esposito's impotent fury. "It's why he never made a play for Beckett – too worried that she'd figure out how ready he was to jump at being a criminal. 'Course, that doesn't stop him from fantasizing about her," he confided while making a rude gesture. "But he's not the only one, eh, Fenton?"

* * *

Victoria Gates wasn't sure what was going on, but she recognized carnage when she saw it. Next to her stood a mortified Detective Beckett, head down and cheeks red. Slightly behind her stood the writer, looking blank and being uncharacteristically quiet. In the Interrogation room, Detective Ryan looked ashamed and Detective Esposito like he was going to burst a blood vessel. And amidst this chaos sat the suspect, leaning back in his chair and looking supremely satisfied at the chaos he'd wrought.

"My office," she commanded to Beckett and Castle while rapping smartly on the glass to signal a break to Esposito and Ryan. Waving to Karpowski to have her keep an eye on the suspect, she turned to the detectives leaving Interrogation. "We need to regroup."

* * *

Dunn's smile broadened as he heard the knocks on the one-way mirror. "Sorry, boys, looks like they're pulling the JV team. With any luck, the Varsity squad will present more of a challenge, but somehow I doubt it."

* * *

For once, Captain Gates hoped that Castle would say something inappropriate, if only to break the tension.

Gathered in her office, the three detectives and the writer all looked painfully awkward around each other, fearful of engaging after the revelations Dunn had offered. That there was such painful reticence to make eye contact seemed to support the notion that there was truth to at least some of what the suspect had said.

With a sigh, Gates sat behind her desk and tried to assess the damage. "Detectives," she started crisply. "I appreciate that confidences and confidentialities may have been violated during the interrogation. I need to verify some of what we heard," she said, ignoring the renewed blushing on some of the cheeks in the room, "so we can figure out how to proceed. And the clock is ticking, so while I'm going to steer clear of personally sensitive topics, I need you to cooperate unless you've got a fine, official reason not to do so."

Met with silence, the Captain proceeded.

"Detective Ryan, is it fair to say that 'Fenton' was an alias you used on an undercover operation involving Whelan, Shannon, and O'Doul"?

"Yes, sir."

"And Siobahn…"

"Is Siobahn O'Doul. She was… involved."

Gates paused, but opted not to engage. Whatever happened on that assignment was part of Ryan's time in Organized Crime and she decided to leave that to them, though doing so incensed the sensibilities she'd honed in Internal Affairs.

"I see. Detective Esposito, were you engaged to a woman named Sonia?"

"Yeah."

Gates nodded again, deeming his answer sufficient for current purposes. "Can either of you speculate as to how Mr. Dunn learned these things about you?"

"My case was confidential," Ryan started, looking relieved at the opportunity to address a relatively innocuous topic. "It's not still active, but we pulled me out in a way that'd allow me to go back in, if necessary. So, hearing that it's blown will piss off the guy's down in OC. But as far as how Dunn knew about it? Had to be from someone inside, a mole. OC'll be even more pissed about that."

"I'll reach out to them once we finish Mr. Dunn's interrogation," Gates offered. "Now, Detective Esposito?"

Shaking his head, Espo reluctantly took his turn to answer the question. "Had to be someone close to my family. I don't talk about her. _Ever_ ," he declared, which Ryan confirmed with a disgruntled nod. "But before she… did what she did, she'd come over for family meals. Mama liked her but Abuelita adored her. She damn near took my head off when I told her Sonia'd left me. They only learned about the engagement after Sonia was gone, so it's not something any of us talk about."

"Very well," Gates sighed, earning looks of relief as the four in front of her realized that Dunn's other comments weren't going to be discussed. "I'm afraid that we must assume you are both compromised until we can ascertain how Mr. Dunn became privy to your secrets."

The pair nodded glumly, understanding the rationale but still upset about being pulled out of the interrogation.

"I'll still want you in the observation room while Detective Beckett and I take a run at Dunn."

"Sir?" Beckett asked, startled about being paired with the prickly new captain.

"Neither of us were involved in the matters addressed by Detectives Esposito and Ryan, and I'm not so far removed that I can't still run an interrogation," she volunteered, speaking in a voice that dissuaded objection. "Besides, you were cleared to return to duty. It's not like you've got anything to hide, right?"


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain

* * *

 **October 23 (continued)**

"Mister Dunn, I'm Victoria Gates. I'd like to know your whereabouts on October 18th," Gates stated as soon as she and Beckett had settled into their chairs in the interrogation room.

Beckett, while she kept her face clear, had doubts about this approach. After Dunn rattled Espo and Ryan so effectively, she thought a more direct and aggressive form of questioning was warranted, first on their homicides then on the confidential information Dunn seemed to know about the boys. But, it sounds like Gates preferred a more solicitous approach. Regardless, she found herself unaccountably happy that Gates insisted on taking the lead. The last thing she wanted was her own secrets trotted out in front of the boys. And Castle. _Especially_ Castle.

"Ah, Captain Gates," Dunn replied with a smile. "And the extraordinary KB. I'm playing in the big leagues now. Here's hoping you can make things more interesting than Sonia's boy-toy or Fenton managed."

"We'll be talking about them and how you know about their backgrounds," Gates promised in a less conciliatory tone, "but I'd like to start by discussing what happened to Mister Delbruck."

"Uh, oh," Dunn replied, feigning concern. "Watch out, Katie-bug, Victoria here is being serious. When she does that there tends to be a lot of collateral damage."

"Only to those who break the law," Gates replied with confidence.

"Hmmm, not sure Liz would agree with that."

"Liz?" Beckett asked, after noting that Gates, too, looked confused.

"Sorry, I'm being overly familiar. I should've said Elizabeth," he answered with a smile while watching Gates intently. "Elizabeth Weston, US Attorney for the Southern District. Surprised she made it that far, what with Big Sis Victoria here celebrating her rise to the top of Internal Affairs by blowing Little Sis's case out of the water. Still, Liz was always the one to put herself out there, to play the game. Does it chafe, Victoria, to find that the younger half of the defunct Dynamic Duo has risen so much higher than you?"

"My sister is not the subject of this interrogation," Gates replied, keeping her demeanor intact. "Unless she can somehow corroborate your whereabouts on October 18th?"

"Shall we call her to ask? It'd be the first time the two of you talked directly in almost two years, right?" Dunn replied, poking Gates again. Turning to Beckett, he stage-whispered: "Thanksgiving Dinner at the Weston household's been a little tense since the infamous Incident of '98. It's _killing_ their mother," he confessed before covering his mouth with his hand and feigning embarrassment. "Oh, sorry, Katie-bug, that was a poor choice of words."

Though she thought herself prepared for a verbal assault by Dunn, his focus on Gates (and Beckett's fascination with watching that exchange) lulled her into complacency. His blatant reference to Gates' mother struck a visceral chord in Beckett, just as Dunn must've known it would.

"Mister Dunn, when did you meet Steven Delbruck?" Gates asked, trying to steer them away from issues relating to Beckett's mother, which even she understands is a fraught topic.

"Oh, Victoria, it isn't that easy," Dunn laughed. "If you want me to answer your questions, you've got to answer mine."

"You're the one under arrest, Mister Dunn."

"It's so cute that you think that matters," Dunn chuckled in reply.

"Why did you leave Dr. Hilltop's body alone after mutilating the bodies of Delbruck and Kemp?" she pressed on.

"Why do you bend the rules for your lead detective here when you followed the letter of the law to sacrifice your sister's prosecution?" Dunn replied.

"How did you obtain Mister Kemp's address?" Gates responded, starting to lose her cool.

"How did you accept the position here at the 12th when it was previously held by someone your Internal Affairs group should've caught years ago?" Dunn smirked.

"Are there more of your victims that we don't know about?" Gates growled in her frustration.

"Are there more Gemini dolls you need for your collection?" he laughed in reply.

"How do you know these things about us?!" Gates cried, slamming her hands on the desk.

Suddenly, Dunn lurched forward. Leaning over the desk with a demonic look on his face, he imperiously surveyed his would-be tormentors.

"I know every little thing about you," he whispered darkly. "I know about the compromises you made to further your career," he said while turning to Gates. "I know what you try to hide behind the façade of 'does-everything-by-the-book' Iron Gates," he nearly purred. "I know the deals, the willful blindness to the proclivities and activities or your superiors, the shame and humiliation you suffered when their attentions turned your way, and the deeper shame for your willing participation in 'career-advancement activities.'"

Gates should've ended the interrogation there. In fact, Beckett or any of the observers should've intervened. But each sat or stood frozen in place, almost hypnotized by the demolition taking place before their eyes.

"And you, Katie-bug," Dunn nearly crooned. "Aren't you a just a layer cake of shattered dreams, subterfuge, guilt, and crippling fear? I'll bet your therapist's shelves couldn't hold the books that could be written about your psychological impediments and handicaps. Why, just your Mommy issues alone could…"

Dunn cut off abruptly as the crashing of the door to the Interrogation room bounced off the wall. There in the doorway stood Castle, with Ryan and Esposito just behind him.

"Captain," Castle said in an admirably calm voice that was belied by his obvious physical signs of stress. Trying desperately not to look at his partner or make it any more obvious that his interruption was motivated by her distress, he tried to appear calmly professional. "There's an issue of relevance that we should discuss before you continue."

Gates began to nod and rise from her seat before she remembered that she should be looking stern as a result of being interrupted. Realizing such a response would be false bravado at that point, Gates continued heading toward the door, noting a pale and disconcerted Beckett follow.

Not seeing Karpowski or anyone else around, she directed the group to the observation room, where they could talk while monitoring Dunn. After they filed into the room, Gates closed the door before slowly turning to address them.

"Mister Castle," she began, noting that everyone in the room stiffened in anticipation of a Captain-level tongue-lashing for the civilian who had the temerity to interrupt the interrogation. "While I cannot imagine another scenario in which it would be appropriate or advisable for you to disrupt one of my interrogations," she said while feeling a little guilty for creating an environment that expected harsh disciplinary rants from her, "I appreciate your decision to interrupt Mister Dunn's harangue."

Clearly surprised by her conciliatory words, Castle loosed a pleased smile before growing nervous again.

"Actually, Captain Gates, I had a thought," he ventured fearfully.

"Oh?"

"I'd like to ask him some questions."

"Oh?" Gates said again, this time much more pointedly. "And why should I allow such a thing?"

"Because I don't think he knows about me in the same way he knows about all of you."

Gates gave him a hard look, while the other detectives alternately looked at him or away from their colleagues. Despite doing their best to forget about it, none can really deny that some very embarrassing secrets have come to light, secrets that might impair their usual camaraderie.

Perhaps Gates was thinking the same thing, as it was not clear that she'd be bothered if Castle fit within the group was impaired. Whatever the reason, after her long look, Gates offered a hesitant nod.

Surprised at Gates' acquiescence, Castle looked a little lost about next steps until the next comment caught him off guard.

"Captain, I don't think that's a good idea," Beckett objected while carefully focusing on Gates and ignoring her partner. "Castle's not ready to handle an interrogation, especially not of a suspect who's managed to slip around our questions so far."

Castle, looking betrayed, started to speak in his own defense before a raised hand from Gates cut him off.

"You've all told me that Mister Castle belongs here, that he can make meaningful contributions to our cases," she reminded all three of them. "The suspect keeps talking about wanting a challenge and so far none of us have laid a finger on him. Perhaps Mister Castle's supposed ' _charm_ ,'" her enunciation of the word laden with doubt, "can get him talking."

"Great," Castle replied as he turned his attention away from Beckett. "Thank you, sir," he said while shaking his head at his unexpected opportunity. "I just need two minutes to get ready." He looked at her warily, expecting her to rescind her offer, but when she make a 'get on with it gesture' by circling her hand from the wrist, he lurched into motion.

Beckett caught up with him at her desk, where he'd just put something in his pocket and extracted his phone. Tapping the phone a few times, he held it to his ear as Beckett approached.

"Castle, we need to talk…"

"Hold on a sec, Beckett," he requested with a flinch. He was just squinting at her again when his call went through and commanded his attention.

"Hi, Fitz? It's Rick," he explained to the person on the phone while Beckett stood nearby. As he made no motion for privacy, she stayed in place while he continued to talk. "Remember the protocols we talked about for Tyson? We need to put them in place. Right now."

With furrowed brows, Beckett watched her partner. She hadn't often heard him sounding as serious as he did at that moment. And mentioning Tyson, with whom they'd had a terrifying encounter months ago, made her even more concerned. But if Castle noticed her reaction, he ignored it while continuing his conversation.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Castle said. "Please get things started, then take off. Check in as planned. With any luck, this'll be a false alarm and things will be back to normal next week," he offered, sounding optimistic. "Yeah, okay. That's right. Okay, next week, then. Good luck, Fitz, and be safe."

Castle sighed and turned to Beckett after pocketing his phone. "Just needed to get things set up."

"Tyson protocols?" she asked.

"You wanted to talk about something," he reminded her, dodging her question. "Maybe to offer more support like you did in front of Gates?"

"Look, Castle, I'm sorry about that," she explained. Castle's dubious look made clear his opinion that she didn't seem sorry. "I'm just not comfortable with you having a go at Dunn."

"Yeah, I got that. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Why do you think he won't know your secrets, too?"

"Look, Beckett, you won't believe me," Castle replied, concerned with his partner's delaying tactics. "Gates is waiting for me. So, unless you want her to toss me out for good, I need to get moving."

Beckett struggled with how to reply, standing in his way but offering no answer. When he made to walk around her, she finally broke.

"He knows things about me, Castle. He can tell you things about me," she said quietly but fiercely. "Things that I'd rather keep private."

Castle tilted his head and studied his partner. She looked fierce, as usual, except something seemed off. Studying her more intently, he thought he saw… fear?

"And he can lie, too," she interjected, taking a different tack. "You'll have no idea if what he says is the truth or not. And that could be… bad for us," she finished in a low, tremulous voice.

Castle looked at her for a long moment before slowly shaking his head as the tension that existed between them since her return from her summer away and his return to the precinct finally seemed to snap.

"If we're so vulnerable to secrets and lies," he replied in his own low voice, "why would bringing things to light be bad for us?"

"What?"

"We haven't really talked since the hospital, after your surgery," he explained, finally articulating some of the things that have bothered him since he returned to the precinct after Beckett's shooting. "And it's not like we really talked before then, either, is it?" he asked rhetorically while thinking about their undercover kiss and several other fraught moments that people in a healthy relationship probably would've discussed, or at least recognized. "We get involved in these situations and we never talk about what's happening with us. Maybe Dunn will be the impetus for us to actually talk."

"I asked you to come back because I trusted you and wanted you to be part of what happens next. How's that not a step in the right direction?" she challenged. "And more than that, what gives you the right to set the timetable for…"

"Mister Castle, it's time," Gates called out from the door to the observation room, ending their argument.

"Don't do this," Beckett asked one more time as Castle started moving towards the impatient captain.

"I can't back out now, Beckett," he replied in a low voice as he shook his head. "If I bail out after finally getting the go-ahead, Gates won't let me near a case again. Besides, I really do think I can get somewhere with Dunn, at least enough to confirm there are no other victims." If Beckett caught his seeming certainty about the victim count, she didn't show it. "I'll take anything he offers with a grain of salt and we can talk about it afterwards, whenever you're comfortable."

Beckett started to reject Castle's plan as hopelessly naïve, but she was out of time – they'd arrived back at the door to the observation room where Gates was waiting.

"Here," Gates said to Castle as she handed him a folder. "It's his arrest report and our case notes. Whether you need it or not, we know that suspects are distracted by wondering what's in the file."

"Actually," Castle replied with a bit of his usual impish grin finally making an appearance, "I'm gonna pass. I've got an approach planned out and I need to have my hands free."

Gates looked him with wide eyes, before pinching the bridge of her nose and issued a loud sigh. "Just get in there and get him talking. And if you use your 'free hands' to touch the suspect, I'll book you for assault myself."

* * *

Castle sauntered into the Interrogation room with his hands in his pockets, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. Meanwhile, in the observation room, three detectives and a captain wondered if meeting desperation with lunacy was a wise strategy.

"Writer Boy!" Dunn cheered from his seat. "Well, isn't this a surprise! Not that you'd try to step in to protect Katie-bug, that's completely predictable. As is charging into a situation for which you have no training or experience. But how in the hell did you convince darling Victoria to let you try an interrogation?! And by yourself! They must really be running scared right now."

"Nah," Castle replied conversationally, though the people in the observation room could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was more tense than he was letting on. Whether Dunn realized the bravado or not wasn't clear. "Captain Gates is just allowing me enough rope to hang myself. As you know," he said with a cocked eyebrow as he leaned forward, pulling his hands from his pockets and setting them on the table, "she isn't my biggest fan."

Dunn stared at Castle's hands, carefully tucked inside evidence gloves, before a wide smile split his face. "Bravo, Writer Boy, bravo!" Dunn enthused as he clapped as much as his handcuffs allowed. "I'd just about given up hope for today and now things are looking up," he cheered, before giggling. "Just for that, your first question's free."

Castle nodded as if he'd expected the response before launching immediately into his first question. "Why did you allow yourself to be caught?"

* * *

"What?!" Espo yelled on the other side of the observation mirror. "Dunn didn't 'allow' anything – we caught his ass red-handed!"

"Quiet!" Gates growled in reply. "Look at Dunn – he's smiling again. Castle's on to something."

"Maybe," Beckett allowed, still wary of this situation. "Be nice if he'd shared that with us."

* * *

"Oh, Ricky, this must be what all those busty 'ladies' at your signings feel when you turn your attention their way," Dunn chuckled, shaking his head. "Giddy excitement at the initial regard, followed by the crushing disappointment when you open your mouth. I gave you a free question and you completely wasted it."

"So, why'd you want to get caught?" Castle repeated his question in case Dunn was trying to distract him from an answer.

"Because I wanted a challenge! Haven't I made that clear enough already?"

"So, why Delbruck, then?" Castle asked, unhappy with Dunn's evasions but not sufficiently practiced at interrogation to box him into a more fulsome answer.

"Now, _that's_ the right question," Dunn nodded approvingly. "Unfortunately, you've used your freebie. You want me to answer your questions, you need to answer mine."

Castle tensed, but it was nothing compared to the flinches from the NYPD members in the observation room. At this point, they could imagine the types of questions Dunn would ask and what the collateral damage might be.

"Tick tock, Ricky," Dunn taunted before humming the tune to the game show _Jeopardy!_ "You know what'll happen soon, right?"

"Your minders will arrive, having been alerted by the fingerprint search," Castle answered, watching Dunn nod along. "I can only guess what kind of chaos you wrought to buy us this much time."

"My minders?" Dunn replied, looking interested.

"Someone with your unique skills wouldn't have gone unremarked or unused," Castle mused, ignoring or not noticing Dunn's resulting smirk. "I don't know how they use you, but I'll hope that you're typically deployed on foreign rather than domestic assignments."

"You're not as dumb as you look," Dunn complimented with a nod. "Or, at least not as dumb as Vicky seems to think you are."

"So, why Delbruck, then?" Castle pressed. Noting that Dunn was about to object, he smiled and leaned forward. "After all, I just answered your question, so now you can answer mine."

* * *

"Does he _always_ play with fire?" Gates asked rhetorically. "Mister Dunn doesn't seem like someone who'd react well to being goaded."

"At least he's talking," Ryan offered in a quiet voice, still wary of engaging while navigating the exposure of some of his secrets. "Guess Dunn finally found his challenge."

"Maybe," Beckett mused from her spot on the other side of Gates. She'd never been this nervous in an interrogation before, and she wasn't even conducting this one. But waiting for the axe to fall – for Dunn to expose things best left hidden – had her biting her lip and leaving crescent-shaped indentations from her nails in the palms of her fisted hands. "Dunn's talking, but he hasn't said much yet. His reactions are odd, though."

"You mean the tic when Castle called him unique?" Ryan asked, with a bit more confidence. "I noticed that, too. We'd better hope he's unique – I wouldn't want to run into more people who can do whatever Dunn can do."

"Just by touching people," Esposito finally interjected. "That's it, isn't it, what Castle figured out. Me an' Ryan, we wrestled him to the ground at the Kemp scene. Then Beckett touched him when she slapped on the cuffs."

"And I helped him when he 'tripped' on the way to Interrogation," Gates continued, growling at how easily Dunn had lured her in. "Mister Castle must've made the connection, hence his decision to enter with protection. His only exposed skin is above the neck, and Mister Dunn's handcuffed to the table."

"Not that he appears concerned," Beckett added. "And if Castle's right, then I can understand why Dunn's so relaxed – if his 'minders' can pull the strings, he'll walk right out of here."

"How bad is it," Ryan ventured, "that I kind of want that to happen? The sooner Dunn is gone, the safer I'll feel."

* * *

"Why did I pick Delbruck?" Dunn asked after a long moment of pursing his lips and looking annoyed at Castle. "Alright, Ricky, you played my game well enough to get a soft question to start, but that's on me. I picked Delbruck," he said with a simple shrug of his shoulders, "because I could barely hear him."

"So you touched him and what – nothing?"

"How'd you know about the touch?" Dunn replied before sitting up and raising his hand as much as he could. "This isn't a new question, it's part of answering your first."

"I'm familiar with Buchanan's theories," Castle answered with an embarrassed shrug. "Stuff like that gets my imagination going. Then I started thinking about how little contact you'd had with the team, here. I guess I could see you doing research on the detectives, but the captain is too new. I couldn't envision a way in which you'd have known about her, so I got to thinking about whether you'd ever even interacted with her before this interrogation."

"I have no idea who Buchanan is," Dunn replied with his own shrug, "but I guess it doesn't matter. So, yeah. I was out on a 'walk,'" he said, using his fingers to indicate air quotes, "and I was greeted by Stevie-boy, who shook my hand and welcomed me to the garden. And, like I said, I could barely hear him. That'd never happened before. So, I wanted to find out why."

"So, you decided to cut him open and start poking around?! Do you have any medical training at all? Equipment, scanners, a diagnostic testing lab?"

"Ah, ah, ah, Ricky," Dunn replied while waggling his finger. "I answered your question, now it's time for mine.

Castle pursed his mouth, then took a deep breath and nodded.

"You know, your beloved Kate fancies herself quite the expert in interrogation styles. She's read all the monographs she could find, watched taped interviews, and even practices her scowl in front of the mirror. When she's not primping, of course," he confided with a wink. "She's got this theory about saving the best questions for late in the interrogation. Not quite the end – it's easier to get questions answered after the suspects are broken. Well, you know – you've gazed at her often enough from where she's standing right now to know her style," he said with a nod to the one-way mirror. "But, our time is limited and it'd be a shame to leave the best questions unasked. So," he said with some glee as he rubbed his cuffed hands together, "let's talk about Alexis."

* * *

"Oh, shit," said more than one voice in the observation room.

"Detectives?"

"Castle is _very_ devoted to his daughter," Beckett answered carefully. "If there's one thing in this world he cares about, it's her."

"Do you think Dunn's read her?"

"No," Beckett answered. "But we've all met Alexis," she said while gesturing to the boys and herself, "so he might know what we think of her."

"Right, then it's time…," the Captain started to say before Dunn's voice came in through the speaker.

" _So, let's go with a matching question_ ," Dunn laughed while watching Castle carefully. " _I'll share some impressions on Alexis and you can tell me which colleague they came from. One thinks she's a good kid, kind, responsible, and smart, nothing like her dad,_ " Dunn laughed again as Castle nodded along at the assessment. " _One thinks she's a stuck up teacher's pet, scrabbling for affirmation, and in desperate need of a good, torrid affair to knock her priorities straight. And the last,_ " Dunn slowed his delivery to end with a flourish¸ " _has thought about what it'd be like to help her along in that last regard._ "

"Out!" Gates commanded, pointing to door. Realizing it too late, she tried to limit the damage yet more secrets could bring. "Now! Before…"

" _The first was from Espo_ ," Castle answered in a monotone even as the detectives were starting to move. " _Then Beckett_ ," he continued as the detectives found their progress halted by the damning words coming through the speaker, which lured Gates to turn back and watch. " _Then Ryan._ "

Surprised that Mister Castle would be so mistaken in his assessment, Gates turned to continue ushering her detectives out of the room. What she saw chilled her to the core – each of her detectives, looking down in shame.

* * *

A/N: My writing has slowed, as the folks on twitter know. I fear I've got very little of chapter five written, so the posting schedule I've held thus far is likely to slip. But, I'm working on it!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

 **October 23 (continued)**

Back in the interrogation room, Castle shook himself in an attempt to clear Dunn's last question from his mind.

"My turn," he said, ignoring the sly smile on Dunn's face. "Are you responsible for any victims after Delbruck other than Kemp or Hilltop, or are there others?"

"Good clarification," Dunn applauded. "If you'd asked if there was anyone else besides Delbruck, we'd be here all day," he cackled. "But after Delbruck? Just Hilltop and Kemp. Though, I was ready to keep going until someone figured out what the hell was going on."

"All in the quest to find something challenging, eh?"

Dunn started to speak, then held himself back. Given that he hadn't exactly held his tongue during all the discussions to that point, his restraint was odd and caught Castle's attention.

"I was gonna say you don't know what it's like," Dunn admitted after a small pause. "But, if the others see you accurately, you actually might. Remember how hard it was for something to catch your attention after you ended Storm?" he asked. Castle found himself wondering if Dunn knew something about him, if he was regurgitating something he'd read from one of the detectives, or if he was just making things up.

"This life, this ability… it gets old real quick. People are small and petty. Doesn't matter if you're here or in a different country, we're all the same: focused on what we want, who we want, and how we want. The homogeneity of desire is sickening," he spat. "Do you realize that more than half of the seven deadly sins are about greed?" Dunn asked, looking slightly mad. "Either greed in itself, greed for consumption, greed for gratification, or greed for what someone else has."

For the first time since this whole bizarre case began, Castle felt the stirrings of an interesting character for his stories. He immediately squashed the thought and reserved his guilt for later.

"You know, I actually went and found a priest, just to see if my experience was unique. And you know what?" Dunn asked, eyebrows elevated on his forehead, "I actually managed to touch one who _hadn't_ dallied with his altar servers. Can you believe it? He was actually a pretty good guy, at least relatively. Sure, he wanted things – like his deacon's daughter – but he mostly wanted things for his parishioners. But, _who-ee!_ , the things he heard in confession. He's heard even more crap than I have! And all of it dripping black with greed."

"So, yeah, I hoped to find a break in the monotony. Just something other than a variant in the universal theme. I still want to know why I could barely hear them, but today's chats have proved to be an interesting diversion."

"Is that your question – why you had trouble hearing Delbruck and Kemp?" Castle asked, trying to mask his hopefulness.

"Looking for a softball, eh? Don't want another question about Alexis?" Dunn guessed shrewdly. "Go on, then," he assented with a nod. "Let's hear your theory. We'll see if it's as outlandish as your ' _colleagues_ ,'" he enunciated with a laugh, "seem to expect."

Castle accepted the point with a shrug, then spoke. "You must've already ruled out the obvious – the physiological effects of early-onset Alzheimer's, for which Dr. Hilltop had both Delbruck and Kemp taking pimavanumab," he ventured. Dunn just looked at him with raised brows but no other reaction, so Castle continued.

"But I'm not sure it's as simple as the manifestations of a horrible disease," Castle ventured, his voice drifting as he lapsed into his thoughts. "What are we all, really, aside for the self we define based on our experiences, hopes, and dreams? Hearing a doctor tell you that you're going to lose that – that you'll slowly unravel and, worse, that you won't even realize it as it happens – that's an especially cruel kind of death sentence. Death of the self before death of the body, I suppose," Castle pondered aloud.

"I've seen people here, suspects, who collapse on themselves as they realize that their lives as they know them are done because of what they did in a fit of rage or jealousy or envy or any other number of motivations," Castle continued. "A diagnosis like Delbruck and Kemp's must be even worse. I think that's why you couldn't hear them – not because of their disease, but because of what they lost, what they gave up when they realized how they were going to die."

Dunn looked at him seriously as he thought about Castle's theory. Slowly, he drew himself up and addressed the writer. "Thank you," Dunn offered solemnly, before a grin sprouted on his face. "That was the most fantastic line of bullshit I've heard in a long, long time," he laughed as he reclined again. "I _know_ you're wrong," he said with confidence. "But it was a fascinating insight into how your mind works. And I've gotta say, I thought your buddy Esposito was biased about your contributions to their theory-building. But, if that was a good example of your usual offerings, Espo was a saint for his restraint."

* * *

The 'saint' in question was sitting at his desk in the bullpen. Excluded from observing the interrogation, along with Ryan and Beckett, he was instead studiously trying to avoid eye contact with Beckett (due to his embarrassment about what Dunn said) and Ryan (due to his fury about what Dunn said). Neither Beckett nor Ryan looked any more eager to broach the brittle, awkward silence that separated them all.

Light tapping at keyboards captured his attention as he saw both other members of his team staring at their computer screens while looking for something or filling out some kind of forms. Or, he thought with a grim internal laugh, they were doing exactly the same thing as him: pretending to do something to avoid dealing with his colleagues.

The whirring of the printer on the low table to the side of their desks seemed to belie his thoughts. Beckett rose from her chair and stood beside the printer, occasionally pulling a sheet out to check the content before replacing it and waiting. Perhaps desperate to break the fragile tension, Esposito finally asked what she was doing.

"If Castle's right," she began with a nod towards the Interrogation room, "then someone's gonna show up and take our suspect away. I'm just making sure I've got a hard copy of our files before they arrive."

"Smart," he replied, annoyed that his distraction had prevented him from doing the same. "You, too?" he asked his partner, with whom he was still uncomfortable making eye contact.

"What?" Ryan replied, fumbling about. "No, I was just looking into something else?"

Something about Ryan's tone struck Espo as false, but he wondered if it was just the fallout from Dunn's accusations. "Something about Dunn?"

"Kinda," Ryan offered somewhat shiftily before looking at his screen and clicking his computer mouse a few times. "I was looking up Castle's reference to Buchanan. I think I found something."

"Oh?" Beckett asked before striding over to look over Ryan's shoulder. Ryan, himself, looked uncomfortable with this development but tried to appear calm.

"Joseph Rodes Buchanan wrote a book called the _Manual of Psychometry_ back in 1885," Ryan started to explain before his partner interrupted.

"1885?! Figures Castle'd be thinking about some ancient weirdo theory. So," Espo asked while looking dismissive, "what's psychometry?"

"… ' _also known as token-object reading or psychoscopy, is a form of extrasensory perception characterized by the claimed ability to make relevant associations from an object of unknown history by making physical contact_ ,'" she read from the online article on Ryan's screen.

"Baloney," Esposito replied on principle, ignoring entirely Dunn's dismantling of their group. "How's that supposed to work?" he asked as he rose from his seat and rounded the desks to join Beckett in looking at Ryan's computer screen.

"According to the theory, items have an energy field that transfers knowledge about the item's history to someone who's adept at recognizing the signals," Beckett replied, eyes still scanning the information.

"Total baloney. Energy fields, adepts?" Esposito scoffed. "Look, here," he continued while pointing at the screen, "it says the theory's been totally debunked."

"Yeah, except for the guy sitting in Interrogation right now."

"Hold it," Ryan interrupted with some urgency. "This talks about objects, not people. Does that mean Dunn could read physical things, too? Like the handcuffs we slapped on him, or…"

"Or the interrogation table?" Beckett wondered.

"The interrogation table that Castle's touched more than a few times," Ryan amended, looking concerned.

Beckett thought about his theory, then shook her head in dismissal. "I don't think so. Remember what Dunn said – he went after Delbruck because he couldn't hear him. Sounds like he's picking up thoughts, not 'energy fields' or something else. Castle just said he was familiar with Buchanan's theory, not that Dunn's a psychometrist."

"Yeah, 'specially since such a thing doesn't exist," Espo laughed. "Besides, even Dunn said he didn't know what Castle was talking about."

"Yeah, I guess," Ryan replied with uncertainty before turning his eyes back to his screen. His movement was a mistake, as it drew his partner's attention back to the same place.

"What the hell?" Espo erupted, poking so roughly at the screen that it nearly toppled over. "What's in this other tab of your browser?" he demanded, poking the screen again.

"It's not what it looks like," Ryan promised, his denial sounding weak even to him.

Roughly shoving Ryan aside, Espo leaned over and took control of the computer mouse, navigating the cursor to click on the other tab, which opened to the homepage of Marlowe Academy.

"You stalking her now?!"

"No!" Ryan yelled in reply, before realizing that his outburst risked drawing attention from others in the bullpen. Getting himself under control, he whispered roughly. "I'm worried about Castle. You know he's probably getting torn up in there – taunted at least, but maybe worse. You know the first thing he's gonna do when he gets out is worry about Alexis. I thought we could call and make sure she's okay," he explained, warily trying to gauge reactions. "And we should call his mom, too."

"Why, you got a thing for her, too, Fenton?" Espo railed back, not mollified by Ryan's explanation.

"It's not like that!" Ryan insisted.

"Espo, let it go," Beckett entreated, stepping back to signal the need to calm things down by creating some distance.

"Says the partner who thought Little Castle needs a good, hard…"

"Espo!" Beckett barked in her most authoritative voice, collecting the attention of all on the floor. "We're not gonna do this. Dunn's obviously very good at sowing dissension. Everyone has secrets. The fact that we hold them tight allows us to function but also gives him leverage. But that only works if we let it."

Again, Esposito looked less than convinced.

"Look," Beckett continued in a more reasonable and regular tone of voice. "I'm sure Ryan did what he had to do in OC. I'm sure you did what you had to do in Special Forces. Same for me in Vice. We all have a past. But you know what?" she asked quietly before pinning them each with a look. "It doesn't matter. All we need to know about each other," she paused before backing up a bit, "all we need to _trust_ about each other, is what we've accomplished as a team. We're the best Homicide team in the city. We've been that way for years. Trust our experience. Trust what we know, not what Dunn's trying to sell."

* * *

"Why did you kill Hilltop?" Castle asked, back in the Interrogation room where it was his turn for a question.

"Why not?" Dunn replied with an indifferent shrug.

"Because he was a physician with patients who depended on him? Because he had partners, family, friends?" Castle replied, getting upset despite his intentions. "Because he was a human being?"

"Not much of one," Dunn scoffed. "Did you meet Maddie Wilder? Talk about an inappropriate name," he said with a sad shake of his head. "There was nothing 'wilder' about her in the sack. Seriously, you'd think a workplace romance would have a little more passion. Something you've given a lot of thought, right, Ricky?"

"Not my turn to answer a question," Castle replied tersely. "So, you killed Hilltop because he was sleeping with his partner?"

"And three of his patients, his wife's best friend, and he was finally making inroads with the neighborhood girl who used to babysit his kids," Dunn replied. "See what I mean? Pull back the public image and he was just as big a pig as anyone else."

"So, that gave you the right to kill him?" Castle pushed, intrigued by Dunn's callous disregard and upset about it.

"Yes, no, who cares?" Dunn replied blandly. "He's dead. Some people will cry, some will be relieved. He was pretty sure his wife knew about the affairs. Now she can take his life insurance and go screw the pool-boy."

Castle held up his hands, still encased in the evidence gloves, and extended his index fingers and thumbs as if framing a camera shot. "Portrait of a remorseless killer."

Dunn shrugged again. "Yeah, that's about right," he agreed. "But if I didn't off Hilltop and park his body on that table, it would've taken you forever to find me and then we wouldn't be having this lovely chat," he said with a coquettish giggle while batting his eyes at Castle. "If you're gonna feel bad about anyone, think about poor Stevie Delbruck. There's a guy who built the perfect life, who worked hard to get it. Then, _Bam_!" he shouted while knocking his cuffed fist on the table. "Sorry, your wife's dead. Sorry, your kids can't handle the memories of your lifelong home and moved as far away as they could. Sorry, here's a shitty little subdivide where you can fade away into nothingness while you'll be helpless to forget the love of your life. I think I did that dude a favor."

"Sad," Castle agreed with a nod, though he was probably talking both about Delbruck and about Dunn's amoral outlook.

"Life," Dunn replied laconically. "But," he continued, "it's my turn for a question, right? Speaking of 'sad,' why are you here?"

"Why am I here? I'm here because you recently killed three people," Castle tried, though he feared he knew where Dunn's question was really pointed.

"Come now, Ricky, let's not play games. Why are you here at the precinct? Why do you continue to wait for Beckett? I can tell you, with absolute authority, that it's never gonna happen."

"Maybe, maybe not," Castle allowed, trying to stay aloof.

"You're not listening, which – between you and me – seems to be a constant belief about you held by everyone in this office," he laughed. "But face the facts, man! She preferred Demming to you. Then she preferred Davidson to you. Now she prefers being alone to you! Don't you get it? She'd rather be alone than face the prospect of private time with you!"

Castle sat at the interrogation table and tried not to flinch. He'd worried about the scenario – having his heart stomped upon. But, of course, it's even worse than he imagined. First, everyone has their own voice of doubt; that eternal, internal whisperer of insecurities. Turns out it's much worse to hear your own insecurities clearly articulated by someone else.

But it's the second issue that truly left Castle feeling beleaguered. He knew someone was watching the Interrogation, but not exactly who. The best case, he realized with a grim shake of his head, is that Gates is alone in the observation room. Then he'd only catch hell for his personal regard for his partner. But if Beckett was in the room, too, he realized that his humiliation would be all the deeper and his degrees of freedom for his reply would be even more limited.

 _Screw it_ , Castle thought as he looked across the table at Dunn. Beckett had her own worries about this interrogation and he'd been foolish enough to disregard them. _If I've got to pay the price anyway,_ he though fatalistically to himself, _I might as well get my money's worth._

"You're mistaken," Castle said as he leaned forward and smiled in a show of bravado. "I know this must be a foreign concept for you, but I can say, with _absolute authority_ ," he said with a grin, happy to throw Dunn's words back at him, "that Beckett has no idea why I came back to the precinct. I'm afraid your information about my motives is out of date."

"You can't lie to me," Dunn offered, looking angry enough that he'd risk ending their game of Q&A.

"I'm sure I can't," Castle agreed while waving his gloved hands to emphasize the protections he'd taken against Dunn's unique talent. "But Beckett? I can lie to her."

* * *

"What the hell is going on around here?" lamented Gates rhetorically in the observation room. She was starting to seriously regret drawing the captaincy of the 12th. What had seemed like a dream job when finally offered to her had been nothing but trouble from the off. First, she needed to clean up the mess left behind by a corrupt (not that they'd ever admit that and tarnish the reputation of the Department!) captain. Then, there was the whole fiasco of being forced to allow the troublesome civilian to gallivant around Homicide crime scenes. And _then_ they find a suspect who revels in sowing discord and exposing fault-lines in what she'd thought was a solid team of detectives. And If Beckett's team was so riven by secrets and lies, she had little hope that other teams were any better.

A sharp knock on the door pulled Gates from her maudlin thoughts. Turning, she opened the door to see an angry looking Beckett flanked by a prim-looking woman in an austere gray suit over a high-necked blouse. The outfit was accentuated with a black scarf, black pumps, and black leather gloves.

Looking beyond the pair in the doorway, Gates saw three men dressed similarly, including the gloves. One was sitting at Beckett's desk while the other two stood behind Esposito and Ryan, clearly overseeing the transfer or deletion of the booking forms for Dunn.

"Excuse me," Gates said sternly, happy for an officious prompt to regain her usual composure. "I'm Captain Vic…"

"Captain Gates," the visitor beside Beckett interrupted, "I'm here to take custody of the suspect currently in Interrogation. This folder contains the transfer documentation. We'll take him now."

"That's not how this works," Gates replied. "We're going to step into my office, review the paperwork, then call… Hey! You don't have the authority to go in there!"

The stern visitor paid no attention, instead opening the door to Interrogation without knocking.

* * *

"Sorry, Ricky, but mom's here so playtime's over," Dunn said with a laugh as he recognized the woman standing in the doorframe.

"You're just laughing because it was my turn," Castle joked weakly, trying to make himself feel better and failing.

"Trust me, Ricky, I've found our conversation _fascinating_. I'd like nothing better than to get inside your head."

That ominous promise (especially considering the souvenirs Dunn took from Delbruck and Kemp) seemed to spur the visitor to motion. She stepped into the room, approached Dunn, and unlocked the cuffs securing him to the table with her own keys. She helped him rise with a hand to his elbow, before spinning him to cuff his wrists behind his back. All the while, Gates scanned the documents in the folder and scowled at her lack of control.

As the visitor led Dunn from the Interrogation room and to the group of her waiting colleagues, Castle began to feel uneasy. Dunn reveled in causing mischief, in throwing around harmful secrets like an anarchist might hurl bombs. His silence seemed ominous. Each step toward Beckett's team and their discreet guests seemed to build the suspense as each member of the team who'd encountered Dunn stepped nervously while awaiting another revelation.

"Miss me?" Dunn mugged for the taciturn, gloved visitors. "I left you a nice present, though, right?"

"It was delightful," the woman leading the visitors replied in a calm voice. "There are some folks who are anxious to talk to you about that. We'd best not keep them waiting."

While Dunn looked indifferent to this statement, the NYPD members (and their resident writer) displayed a more complex range of emotions: anger at the way they'd been summarily dismissed by the gloved officers or agents or whomever; frustration at the likely consequences for their cases of losing their main suspect; embarrassment at what Dunn had revealed to others; relief that he'd soon be gone, taking his unwelcomed revelations with him; and, finally, shame at how naked their relief were to others.

So it was an odd assemblage that escorted Dunn to the elevator to take him away. And with every step, the smile on his face grew larger as he delighted in the awkward tension that grew more cloying as they neared the elevator.

"You've been such wonderful hosts," Dunn erupted just as one of his guard went to press the elevator call button, "it'd be a shame to leave you without some parting gifts."

The gray-suited minions stood resolutely silent, ignoring Dunn and his comments. Beckett's team, Castle, and even Gates took deep breaths as they prepared for one last assault, though at least one thought about bolting.

"Ryan," Dunn started, causing the young detective to flinch. "Don't let Espo give you any shit about your Lolita thing for Alexis. If he starts, just tell him your fantasies are far more boring than what he got up to with your sister. And Javy, should you decide to bury the hatchet, don't take him home for dinner – he _hates_ your mama's cooking."

From the enraged look on the boys' faces, Castled experienced a small instant of displacement. Despite the seriousness of the moment, he couldn't help but marvel at the quantification of rage, about how insulting a man's mother's cooking was apparently tantamount to sleeping with another man's sister.

"Detective," Dunn continued, turning to face Beckett, "it was a real pleasure. You've given me so much to think about I'm not even going to leave you with a parting shot. I mean, seriously, it's gonna take me months to figure you out, even with the head start from Doctor Burke," he marveled. Beckett, meanwhile, lowered her head at the confused looks she garnered at the mention of her therapist. "But I think I'll start with pondering this question: how could it be, after all that's transpired between you, that you didn't even _think_ about calling Ricky here while you were hiding away this summer? And after that beautiful confession, too! To not even _think_ about him – how can that even happen?"

"That's enough!" Gates finally interjected, again too late. Figuring she'd learned nothing new since Dunn last touched her and thus there was no additional risk, she drew close to get in his face as she defended her detectives. "I've had more than enough of your petty little power plays. Run along to your handlers and next time you want a challenge, try to make yourself a respectable human. There's a challenge for you!"

The ding of the arriving elevator punctuated the moment but did not distract Gates or Dunn.

"Oh, Vicky," Dunn smiled in response as he clapped his cuffed hands. "Keep fighting the good fight. Keep cleaning up the precinct. Keep your fierce reputation intact, and keep yelling," he said as he was ushered into the elevator. Turning in place to face her from inside the elevator car, he fired his parting shot. "But do it quick, because Victoria?" he asked as the doors began to slide closed, " _I can barely hear you_."

* * *

A/N: More soon, I hope. Lots of travel in the short term, which usually means time for writing (presuming I don't leave my computer at the security checkpoint again...)


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

 **October 23 (continued)**

Once the elevator doors closed, Beckett's team and Gates remained locked in place. But even in stillness the blood quickly drained from Captain Gates' face as the full implications of Dunn's parting words occurred to her. Without a word, she spun on her heel and strode to her office, closing her door and her blinds behind her.

"You don't think he meant…," Ryan trailed off, wondering if Dunn was playing with Gates or if she, like Delbruck and Kemp, had Alzheimer's or some other horrible diagnosis that would make it difficult for Dunn to hear her.

But Ryan's comment died mid-delivery as he realized that no one was listening. Each member of the team looked solemn and solitary, still processing the secrets Dunn had revealed and thinking about how or if they could continue to work together based on what they'd learned.

It was Beckett who finally broke the silence. Looking up, she turned to her partner and tried to get his attention. "Castle," she called out quietly several times before giving up on his name and trying a different approach. "He lied, Castle, I promise you he lied." When even that confession didn't seem to pull Castle from his thoughts, she tried one more time. "You promised me we'd talk about what he said before anything else."

Those last words seemed to penetrate, causing Castle to look up and slowly study his partner. Then, finally, he nodded. "We'll talk," he said in a quiet voice. "But I need to clear my head. I'm gonna go for a walk and think about what happened in there," he declared with a tilt of his head toward the Interrogation Room. "We can talk after I get back."

Though not a huge fan of this plan, it was still reasonable, so Beckett gave a slow nod in reply. Her partner turned toward the stairs before Ryan interrupted.

"Castle, can we talk, too? I can explain."

"Later, Kevin," Castle replied without turning back. "I need more time before I'll be willing to talk about that." Then, without another word or backwards look, Castle stepped toward the stairs and descended out of sight. Ryan seemed upset at being rejected, but took some solace in Castle's use of his given name.

The afternoon seemed interminable after that. Technically, they had no paperwork to do as their files, and the responsibility of closing the homicide cases that led them to Dunn, had all been confiscated or transferred to Dunn's minders. Beckett still retained the physical backup copies she made, but she felt no desire to peruse the files with Dunn's taunts still fresh in her mind.

With no pending cases, the team should have been placed atop the duty roster, but no one was sure if that was the case. Gates still hadn't emerged from her office. Their phones didn't ring, so the team assumed they were on standby until that changed.

Which was painful, of course. No work meant no distractions, no chases, no puzzles to command the attention that otherwise inevitably returned to Dunn's comments. Beckett could feel his words festering in her soul. She wondered if the boys were feeling the same thing but a quick glance disproved that theory – they were both shooting angry looks at the other, still riled by the truths Dunn had whispered like a snake.

Standing abruptly, Beckett decided to stop treading lightly and instead decided to risk a head-on discussion with her teammates. "Conference room," she directed before leading the way, assuming the boys would follow. And follow they did, shooting baleful looks at each other as they scuttled inside. Following Gates' lead, Beckett lowered the blinds to isolate her team before taking a seat and staring at her colleagues until they followed suit and sat at the table.

"I'm still seeing the therapist who cleared me to return to duty," she volunteered directly, counting on shock to command their attention. Sure, Dunn had revealed Burke's existence, but she figured (rightly) that her willing confession would be a surprise. "Dunn wasn't wrong – I've got some issues I'm working on and it's gonna take a while. I'd rather not bring Doctor Burke in to try to fix us," she admitted to general nods, "so we're gonna try to do this ourselves. Because I don't want Dunn to tear apart in less than a day what it took us years to build."

The boys nodded at the concept but didn't look particularly willing to join hands and sing Kumbaya around a campfire.

"So," she continued resolutely, "I'll go first. Dunn hit me with three things. I've already confessed to seeing a therapist. It sucks, I'm not good at it, I don't like it. And I finally understand that it's going to take time. But I think I'll be better for it," she confessed quietly. She risked a quick glance and thought she saw looks of compassion, which bolstered her morale and seemed to suggest that maybe catharsis was possible.

"He also hit me about Alexis. You might not like what you heard, but it was accurate," she confessed. "As you might've picked up, before my mom died, I was pretty wild," she noted with a little grin. "I would not have gotten along with Alexis at her age and I wonder if Castle's own personal life led him to shelter her too much." Recognizing the incipient interruptions, she raised her hands to ward them off. "I freely admit that I'm not a parent, have no idea how to raise a kid, don't know what effect Meredith or Gina had on Alexis' development, or many other things. My thoughts are exactly that – just my thoughts. Uninformed, biased, and perhaps, in this case, a little crude," she admitted with a shrug. "Which is why I never shared them."

"Dunn's third knock on me was the worst," she continued, girding herself for this discussion but telling herself that it might be a good test run for a later talk with Castle. "You remember how things were at the hospital after I was shot. I was in incredible pain, higher than a kite, my relationship with Josh was exploding, dad was hovering around trying to be supportive, and I was trying to understand why Montgomery did the things he did," she offered in a quiet voice, recognizing the looks of grim recollection in her teammates. She could've mentioned her terror, too, but more than enough of her private thoughts had been aired already.

"I knew Castle and I needed to talk about things, but I just couldn't do it while I was in the hospital. I told him I'd call him. Then dad and I decided to move to the cabin for my recuperation. It took me a lot longer to getter better – in body and head – than I thought it would. Hell," she confessed, "I'm still working on it. I didn't want to call Castle until I was fixed. But I thought about calling him _every single day_ ," she emphasized with three pointed knocks on the table that coincided with her last words.

"This is why Dunn is so dangerous. It infuriates me that he freely volunteers what we've chosen to keep private. But more insidious is that he can lie – he knows our insecurities, knows what others think about us, what we think about them, and can deliver perfect lie with surgical precision. And why wouldn't people believe him? If he can read our thoughts, who'd doubt what he claims we think?" she nearly growled in frustration while imagining Castle wandering around outside wondering if she really never thought about him over their summer apart.

"Here's what we're gonna do," Beckett declared while standing. "What Dunn said about me affected all of us, so I needed to talk to you. I need you two to figure out how to get past what you heard. I don't need to be here for this – as far as I'm concerned, I can compartmentalize anything I heard about you and it changes nothing. So, work it out. I'll be outside covering for you and diverting any interruptions," she promised while looking stern, making it clear that she expected compliance. "Unless I need to stay here and referee?"

Neither Ryan nor Esposito spoke in reply, but both shook their heads.

"Okay, good. Now, give me your sidearms," she commanded. "I don't care if you need to knock each other around a bit to work things out, but we'll leave the guns out of it." Grudgingly, the boys complied. Internally, Beckett smiled – they might have some wide divides to mend, but perhaps the shared experience at being forced to play by her rules would provide some initial commonality on which to build. With that optimistic thought, she moved toward the door.

"Don't come out until we can function like a team again."

* * *

"What the hell's going on in there?" Karpowski asked after hearing a loud crash from the conference room.

"Team-building exercise," Beckett answered with an admirably straight face.

"Ah. Trust falls?"

"Something like that."

* * *

"Ma'am?" Officer Garr asked as he approached from the stairwell. His look of relief at speaking to Beckett rather than Gates was perfectly clear. "Is there a problem up here? The OC guys downstairs said that things are gettin' a bit loud."

"Nothing to worry about, Garr," she reassured him. "Just some renovations on the conference room. Shouldn't last much longer."

Garr tilted her head and gave her an odd look.

"Renovations?" he asked, sounding amused. "I shoulda known that word when mama asked what my brothers and I were doin.' Might could've saved us the extra chores."

"You just needed an older sister to provide some cover," Beckett smiled in response. "You can tell the dainty souls downstairs that we'll be done disturbing their beauty naps pretty soon."

"Thank you, ma'am, I think I'll do exactly that."

* * *

"Detective Beckett," she heard from behind her just as she was about to peek inside to see if the recent silence from within meant the boys had reconciled or if one had incapacitated the other.

"We're almost done," she said tersely, starting to get annoyed by the attention they were drawing to the conference room.

"Detective, we're not here about the noise."

Blowing out a sigh, Beckett turned to see the woman who'd commanded custody of Dunn. And in that moment, Beckett felt like she could imagine what it would be like to have his gift. Because with only a look, she could read the woman's mind: Dunn had escaped.

* * *

"What happened?" Gates demanded minutes later when Beckett's team, Gates, and two of Dunn's 'minders' had collected in the conference room. Gates didn't look amused at the broken chairs, listing table, or cracked window, but shrugged it off in light of more pressing matters.

"We were both compromised. Cole managed to touch your man in Holding and was able to blackmail him for a key to his cuffs even before he was interrogated. Once we collected him, Cole touched his driver and talked his way out of his car."

"Who's Cole?" Gates asked. "For that matter, who are you? You managed to skip the formalities earlier today."

"I'm Kathryn Jeffers, that's Michael Hansen," the woman replied. "We work for a division of the NSA. Alex Cole is the man remanded into our custody earlier today."

"So, Kenneth Dunn was an alias?" Ryan asked. "Nothing turned up in the system."

"Like much of what you heard today, what Cole said was designed to evoke a response," Agent Jeffers replied. "Tell me – does the name Dunn have significance to one or more of you?"

"Yes, it does," Beckett answered tersely. "So, how'd you lose Cole?"

"Detective, as you know, Cole has certain useful skills and abilities. These make him a difficult asset to manage."

"Difficult to manage?!" Gates mimicked bitingly. "He killed three people and cut them open, all in the hopes of finding a challenge! What you call 'difficult' I call criminal negligence and reckless endangerment!"

"Stop posturing," Jeffers snapped. "We both know that skills like his will not be allowed to go unused. He's never demonstrated behavior like this in the past and we'll adapt. It may sound callous but what we've gained from Cole's service outweighs the losses he inflicted."

"How long has he been in the wind?" Esposito asked, getting them back on task. This question shifted the group's attention to him. While all certainly noticed the swelling around his eye and torn shirt, they ignored it just as they ignored Ryan's bloody lip and obvious limp. Considering their familiarity with Dunn's – or Cole's – methods, the agents probably weren't surprised by evidence of disharmony. Beckett was happy to ignore the incidental damage as well, as the boys seemed to have worked through at least a large portion of their awkwardness and animosity.

"About 45 minutes now," Jeffers answered after checking her watch.

"What?! Why didn't you call us immediately?" Gates demanded.

"One, because we didn't know right away. Cole compelled his driver to continue on, so we didn't immediately realize he'd slipped from the car. Two, we were hoping to avoid a panic."

"Wait a minute," Beckett interjected in a low, dangerous tone. "That means you lost him almost as soon as you left the precinct," she figured as she whipped out her phone and started dialing.

"That's right," Jeffers replied. "About four blocks from here."

But Beckett had stopped listening to the agent, instead willing Castle to answer his phone. She sagged in relief when her call went through.

" _Katie-bug! I was hoping you'd call. I'm afraid Ricky can't come to the phone right now, but do you have a message to pass along?_ "

Beckett could feel the blood draining from her face. Not that she noticed, but the others in the room recognized either her reaction or managed to overhear Cole's voice in the tiny room.

" _Don't worry about it_ ," Cole interjected before Beckett could reply. " _I know you pretty well, so I'll just wing it. Gotta go, lots and lots to do. Toodles!_ "

* * *

"No go on Castle's cell," Ryan reported morosely after hanging up with the 12th's tech department. "Cole either ditched the phone or powered it off."

"What about Mister Castle's daughter or mother?" Gates asked.

"They're not at home," Jeffers answered from her borrowed desk in the Homicide bullpen. "One of my agents just called in – no one there and the doorman said the lock was changed earlier today."

"Marlowe Prep said Alexis was pulled out of class by someone named…," Espo added, pausing to look down at his notes, "… William Fitzpatrick. He was on the pre-cleared list so they let her go. No one's seen Martha today but I'm still on hold to talk to one of her students."

"Fitz!" Beckett cried, making a connection and drawing the attention of the assembled NYPD staff and their federal visitors.

"Detective?" Gates prompted when Beckett looked lost in thought.

"Before he went in to interrogate Dunn, I mean Cole," Beckett explained, "Castle called someone named Fitz and told him to activate something he called the Tyson protocols."

"Who's Fitz?"

"Who's Tyson?"

"What protocols?"

Shaking her head, Beckett collected her thoughts. "I think Fitz is one of Castle's attorneys. Espo, will you run that down?" she asked, getting a quick nod in reply. "As for Tyson, that's a reference to Jerry Tyson. He's… he's a very careful, methodical killer we ran into last year. He was very adept at researching and planning – he entered the lives of his victim and had elaborate and effective means of avoiding detection."

"Where is he now?"

"I wish I knew," Beckett replied softly, getting a firm nod from Ryan. "He incapacitated Ryan and could've killed Castle, but he bolted. He's out there, somewhere, almost certainly planning his revenge."

"Why revenge? What'd you do to him?" Gates asked. Beckett frowned, wondering if this was her boss asking to better understand the situation with Castle or if she was still wearing her Internal Affairs hat and sniffing around for evidence of police misconduct.

"We ruined his perfect crime. Like any other self-described genius, he has a very large ego. He'll certainly want payback for having his hard work spoiled," Beckett answered.

"So, I take it Mister Castle shares this opinion?" Jeffers asked rhetorically before continuing. "If so, is it reasonable to assume that the 'Tyson protocols' would be intended to prevent Tyson from entering into Castle's life?"

Beckett took a moment to think and then started nodding. "That makes sense. Look at what we know – Castle's loft is empty and the locks were changed. Fitz pulled Alexis out of school and we can't find Martha. When he was talking to Fitz about the protocols, Castle told him to take off, that they'd check in as pre-arranged, and that he hoped it was a false alarm and things could go back to normal next week," she thought aloud. " _And_ ," she exclaimed as she made yet another connection, "we didn't know it, but Castle already had his psychometry theory about Dunn – Cole – then. So he might've been worried about what would happen if Cole touched him. It fits," she declared.

"Then we are both very fortunate and very unlucky," Jeffers replied somberly. "We are fortunate in that it sounds as if his family is not in immediate danger and we needn't worry about Cole using Mister Castle's properties or assets. However, it also means that Mister Castle would be acting at random, taking care not to go anywhere or call anyone familiar. That means that unless Detective Beckett has any insight into how he would react in this kind of situation, we don't even know where to begin looking for Mister Castle," Jeffers summarized. Then, looking around at the faces of the NYPD personnel, she finished her thought.

"Worse, Mister Castle's daughter and mother are hidden, even from him. Who can find them first sounds like _exactly_ the kind of game that will appeal to Cole."

* * *

A/N: This chapter brought to you early thanks to a lengthy flight delay. And, yes, I managed to retain possession of my computer at the airport this time. This is the last chapter that takes place on October 23. We've finally made it to the scene that started the story!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

 **October 24**

Agents Jeffers and Hansen arrived to a scene of chaos on the morning after Cole's escape. Mister Castle was out cold on the floor, bleeding copiously, while members of his team surrounded him.

"Have emergency services been called?" Jeffers asked as she approached the group. Getting a curt nod from Gates, she moved closer to inspect the damage.

"What's wrong with him?" Beckett asked as Jeffers crouched beside her. "Have you seen this before?"

Jeffers went through the motions of checking Castle, who'd been rolled onto his back. While Ryan kept a compress on his head, Jeffers raised Castle's eyelids to check his pupils. Only after finishing this and checking his pulse did she answer, though she'd recognized the situation immediately upon arrival.

"As long as the head wound doesn't prove problematic, he'll recover," she pronounced. "Eventually."

"Define ' _eventually_ ,'" Beckett growled.

"Cole has some degree of control over how forcefully he collects information. Usually, he's instructed to exercise a light touch and draw no attention, much as I suspect he did with your team yesterday. But, sometimes his work calls for more rapid or strenuous collection. This," she said while gesturing to Castle, "is one of the consequences of that approach."

Beckett paused to regain control of her emotions, which we calling to her to throttle the agent. After a slow three-count, she turned to the agent. "In your experience, how long until he comes back to himself?"

"At least a few hours, but probably not longer than a day. Two on the outside."

Any response from Beckett was curtailed by the arrival of the EMTs, who bustled over to Castle and carefully displaced the team members around him. After a few minutes where the only sounds came from the EMTs, Castle was atop the portable gurney, secured, and about to start the journey to the hospital.

As she moved to take a position at his side, Beckett felt a hand at her elbow pull her back. Turning and preparing to finally let loose on Jeffers, she was surprised to see that it was Gates who'd stopped her progress and pulled her aside.

"Detective Beckett," Gates said quietly, the tone of her voice making it clear that she wanted a private word. "I'd like you to stay and work with Agents Jeffers and Hansen. No one knows Mister Castle as well as you, so I'm hoping that you'll have some insight into how we might find his family before Mister Cole gets too much of a head start."

"But, sir…"

"Detective," Gates interrupted, again dropping her voice. "We both know you're the only one who can do this. And," she continued after a quick look around, "I have a medical appointment myself this morning. I'll relieve you as soon I've finished and you can check on your partner."

Beckett barely managed to limit her reaction to widened eyes. Clearly, her boss was taking Cole's parting comments about 'not being able to hear her' seriously. But even more shocking was the first reference Beckett could remember to Castle as her partner.

After she nodded her acquiescence, the group dispersed. In a matter of a few minutes the EMTs had departed, leaving only a strange silence and the concerned looks from the other denizens of the fourth floor who'd arrived during the commotion.

"Conference room," Beckett found herself saying again, just like yesterday, after the detectives and agents had spent time researching their respective avenues of investigation. And, just like yesterday, the lingering damage drew looks but no comments. After a few trips, the NYPD members had moved their computers into the room while the agents similarly set themselves up.

"Espo, why don't you start?" Beckett prompted as everyone was still sliding into place.

"Beckett was right," he said with no preamble. "Fitz is one of Castle's attorneys. He's got a team that deals with other stuff – like divorces, contracts, and licensing – but Fitz handles special projects."

"Like what?" Hansen asked, finally speaking in the presence of his superior.

"Confidential charitable donations, trusts, some immigration projects," Esposito rambled off while looking at his notes. "One of Castle's other attorneys said Fitz basically handles anything that catches Castle's attention or he wants kept quiet. There's been some irritation about Castle not telling his other attorneys what Fitz does for him, but he just laughs it off. Anyway," he segued at a raised eyebrow from Beckett, "Fitz is gone. He lives with his wife, but his doorman said they left for a vacation yesterday. Oddly enough, his kids also took their families on vacation, even though neither of them live in the city."

"Consistent with what you overheard about the Tyson protocols," Jeffers noted while looking at Beckett, who nodded in response.

"Ryan?" Beckett then prompted.

Ryan's investigation into Castle's family provided no more leads than the check into Fitz. Marlowe Academy had no indication of where Alexis went with Fitz or when she'd be back. Martha's studio only knew that she'd notified them of a 'family emergency,' a story verified by students she was tutoring. In desperation, Ryan had even reached out to the doormen in Castle's building, neither of whom had insights into where they might've gone.

The baton then passed to Beckett, who verified that Chief Brady had checked Castle's place in the Hamptons. It was vacant and a follow-up call to the local locksmith confirmed that he'd changed all the locks yesterday, just before the security company arrived to change the settings on the home surveillance system. It was such a familiar story by then that Beckett felt no need to share that she'd even checked in at the Haunt, where Brian the Bartender confirmed a visit from the security company yesterday afternoon.

"So, we've got no leads. Castle's credit cards haven't turned up, but I expect they've all been canceled as part of the protocols," Beckett summarized. "His phone's been inactive since the call with Cole and his editor hasn't hadn't heard a peep from him before she departed on her own impromptu vacation. At this point," she said while turning to Jeffers, "I think we're more likely to find Cole than we are to find what Castle's taken pains to hide. So, what can you tell us?"

A quick look at his colleague had Hansen reaching into a satchel to withdraw three folders, which he then distributed to the NYPD personnel.

"The files are confidential and won't leave this room, which is a short summary of the disclosure form that you'll sign before proceeding," Jeffers warned them while each of detectives opened the files and started to skim the few pages within after dashing off signatures.

"This says Cole's only worked for you for just more than four years. Where was he before then?" Beckett asked, cutting off whatever additional dire warnings Jeffers planned to use to ensure they'd keep the information confidential.

"Cole got rolled up in a surveillance project. We were running an operation to intercept financial transactions of a group of foreign nationals of interest to the Agency. Cole had his own operation in place, where he'd 'bump into' people leaving the bank and then use his skills to syphon money from their online accounts. He thought he was clever by just taking small amounts over time; that kept his victims from realizing what was happening, but it tripped our algorithms when we took a hard look at some accounts he'd tapped."

"So, what, a plea deal? He works for you in return for burying the theft and computer crime charges against him?" Esposito guessed.

"Plus everything he had on accounts of interest," Jeffers nodded. There was no shame in her reply, nor did there need to be. Turning perps into sources or assets was an expected part of law enforcement at both the NYPD and the NSA.

"And promises to cover up his latest homicidal rampage?" Ryan interjected.

Perhaps there was room for shame, though neither Jeffers nor Hansen flinched.

Beckett, though, looked increasingly dissatisfied with the thin file in front of her. Jeffers noticed and raised a brow to prompt clarification.

"This is crap," Beckett summarized crudely, closing her file and tossing it onto the table where it spun in place. "There's nothing in here that explains the escalation from a mildly effective computer fraud perp into a challenge-seeking murderer in the span of four years, all under your watch. Tell us what the hell is actually going on or get the hell out."

Jeffers eyed the detective dispassionately for several long moments. When no reaction ensued, she nodded once. "Let me make a call."

* * *

Captain Gates sat in her car while the engine popped a crackled, cooling down from its return journey from the hospital to the precinct. But she made no move to exit the vehicle. Instead, she stared at the cellphone clutched in her hand, alternately considering it a lifeline or a snake poised to strike.

After several long minutes, she took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, and then forcibly exhaled. Then, before she could change her mind, she raised the phone, unlocked it, and opened the phone app while pointedly ignoring the red circles that counted the tally of unaddressed texts and emails that'd arrived while she was away from the precinct, first attending to Mister Castle and then to her own needs.

She held the phone to her ear and sighed as the call finally connected. She'd landed in voicemail, a middling outcome – better than rejection but worse than an actual conversation. She quailed at the delayed communication, but still took some solace in the fact that the number hadn't changed.

"Hi, Liz? It's Victoria," she said, before pausing slightly. "I… I was hoping to talk to you. I've got news. Not good news. I know… It's been a long time since we've talked and I… I…," she trailed off, getting frustrated. Then, with another centering breath, she admitted defeat and bowed to the mood of the day. "I need my sister. Please call me?"

* * *

Gates stepped off the elevator and looked around for Beckett and her team. She frowned at seeing their empty desks. But before she could think about making calls to locate them, she noticed Agent Jeffers step out from a small room used for attorney-client discussions and walk into the conference room. Figuring that's where her wayward detectives must be, Gates followed and managed to catch the door just before it closed behind the agent.

"Captain Gates," Jeffers greeted her as she took her place at the table. "How is Mister Castle?"

"Stable," Gates replied, sharing the news she'd updated on her walk into the precinct. "But still unresponsive."

Jeffers nodded, seemingly unsurprised and unaffected by Beckett's concerned stare. "Unsurprising. We have at least an hour or two remaining before he should return to us. Detective Beckett," she said while turning, "it would be best if he saw a familiar face upon waking, but we have time an authorization to address your request before anyone needs to leave."

"Request?" Gates asked, trying to catch up on what she'd missed. Hansen, without speaking, passed her the same non-disclosure forms the other had signed in response.

Jeffers waited until Gates signed the document before addressing the group. "The information I'm authorized to provide will be oral only and you will not take notes," she said sternly. After making eye contact to drive the point home, she resumed the briefing.

"There are two salient points about Cole that may help us understand, and ultimately track, him. The first is pacing."

"Like with serial killers?" Ryan interjected in a flash of insight.

"Yes, but different. In serials, the pacing accelerates as the psychological return from the act lessens over time. With Cole, we have a different kind of pacing. As Detective Beckett noted, we picked up Cole less than five years ago, when he was thirty-nine. Evaluated on its own merits, his banking fraud scheme was clever enough and probably could've persisted for another year or two before he would've needed to shut down had we not tumbled onto him."

"So, what's the pacing issue?" Ryan asked, confused.

"Almost anyone could've set up the same scam as Cole did. Granted, they'd have to skim the access information electronically rather than touch people, but it really wasn't much different."

"But it should've been," Beckett finished, now understanding the point. "If he'd had access to these abilities all his life, he should've been much more sophisticated by then."

"Exactly," Jeffers agreed. "In the course of four years, he went from a simple banking scheme to significantly more advanced and elaborate operations. He could, _hypothetically_ ," the agent accented the word to make it clear that she wasn't specifically revealing Cole's actual history, "be inserted into an operation that involved accessing critical information, passwords, and even language and audio-visual recollections of targets, being able to pass them off as his own almost immediately."

"You must've trained him," Esposito interjected, remembering his own training in the military all too well.

"Of course," Jeffers acknowledged. "But, as good as we are, I don't think we can take much credit. Cole's abilities far outpaced any instruction received from us."

"Impressive," Gates accedes, "but ultimately terrifying, if it makes him more efficient in delivering the kind of carnage we've seen."

Hansen nodded but again it was Jeffers who answered. "That leads us to the other point for discussion." She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts before pointing to Ryan's laptop.

"What happens when you've got too many files on that?"

Ryan looked nonplussed at the segue but answered promptly. "We can't really delete anything, in case we need it for trials later. So, I archive my files by case number and delete them from my machine once they're backed up. I think Tory runs a backup, too."

"We have a similar arrangement," Jeffers replied. "However, it seems that Cole does not. If his brain is the laptop, it's becoming apparent that he lacks the ability to discard information once it becomes obsolete. Instead, you could think about it as the new information overwriting the old. There had been recent concerns that Cole was sometimes… confused about what was old and what was new."

"He's breaking down?" Beckett asked incredulously. "And you left him in the field?"

"He was actually benched for his annual panel of psych evaluations when he slipped out of our facility and apparently ran into Mister Delbruck. Obviously, he'll be on lock-down once we find him again."

"So," Gates decided to summarize. "Cole's skills have been increasing at an alarming rate, but the more information he assimilates, the greater the risk of psychological breakdown? A breakdown that seems to have a distinctly psychopathic edge to it?"

"Yes," Jeffers answered somberly. "That seems to be the case."

"And he's fixated on Castle's family," Beckett added.

"Shit," Espo and Ryan replied in unison.

* * *

A/N: Happy New Year! Remember when this started as a Halloween story? Apologies for the delay. Those who've read my other stories and author's notes remember that my company had a big acquisition about 18 months ago. Well, you can guess what happened in the last few months. Now there are far fewer of us to do the work, so time is tight. I'm hoping the close of the calendar year allows me a little time to finish this story soon.

Also, a belated happy birthday to my friend Aalon!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

 **October 25**

All that work for nothing, Beckett thought with a little frustration.

She'd spent far too long in the car outside, psyching herself up for her talk with Castle, but there he lies, asleep again. She'd returned from lunch to news that he'd regained consciousness after Cole's unique brand of interrogation and was, blessedly, lucid enough to give a statement. Rather than wait at the precinct to read his statement, she opted to go straight to the hospital to speak with him. Yet while he may no longer be insensate, giving his statement must've been taxing as he'd fallen back into a heavy sleep.

Still, there was no reason for her to leave. Gates had given her permission to be here and Ryan and Espo were working with Jeffers and Hansen in an attempt to predict what Cole might be doing. It's a fool's errand – trying to predict the actions of a psychopath in mid-meltdown, one who himself was trying to predict where the protective measures of an inventive author might've hidden his family.

Beckett picked up Castle's medical chart and flipped the pages, not really understanding the notations. Still, she used her phone to take pictures of the pages, not to send to Lanie but instead as a safety measure. Too often evidence in their cases seems to disappear, and as this case involved a rogue NSA asset, she assumed that there would be little left once the feds were gone.

Beckett let out an unexpected chuckle as she realized how Castle would revel if he knew of her conspiracy-minded thoughts. Looking up to see if her outburst woke him, she wasn't sure if she was happy or disappointed that he hadn't roused.

Most people look peaceful when at rest. Younger. Not so for Castle, Beckett thought, at least not now. Perhaps once his ladies were safe, once Cole was captured, once their partnership was on firmer ground… maybe then he'd look peaceful in repose. But now he just looked vacant. No coy smile, no roguish smirk. No dancing eyebrows or infuriating leer. He was a blank slate, a state that Beckett found deeply disturbing.

Shaking off her thoughts, Beckett finally sighed and turned to the lone chair in the private room. Giving a light nudge to push it near Castle's bedside, she was surprised to find that it barely moved. Upon inspection she realized the problem – it wasn't just an ugly chair, it was one that folded out into a narrow, lumpy cot, probably used by fathers staying the night after their wives have given birth. With a huff, Beckett bent over and tugged, shifting back to use her slight weight and leverage to help pull the chair.

"I like this version of the story much better," rasped a familiar voice from behind her.

"Castle!" she replied, whipping around. Her relief at seeing a weak smirk on his exhausted face nearly made her laugh. "What story?" she asked as she finally jostled the chair into position before taking a seat and then reaching out to clasp his hand.

"Sleeping Beauty, obviously," he rasped again while feebly gesturing to himself, before looking at the bottle of water on the bedside table, which Beckett cracked open and handed to him without a word.

"Instead of a kiss," Castle explained in a more normal voice before playing with the bed controls to lever himself into a more upright position, "I was awoken when the fair princess shook her derriere in my face."

Blushing as she realized the unintentional show she must've provided in her battle to relocate the chair, Beckett shook her head at his nonsense. It was such a welcome…

 _That tricky bastard_ , she admired. Even recently awoken after having his brain scrambled, he was wily enough to provide them a topic of conversation that ignored the angst of their current situation and allowed a little banter to help them reset. Either that, or he was trying to distract her entirely and hoping to avoid the difficult conversation they need to have.

"Castle, I'm sorry," she offered, immediately sober and contrite. "Before we get to what happened and where we go from here, I want to start with that. What Cole told you I was thinking…"

"Beckett," Castle interrupted, his voice less raspy but still squeaky from disuse, "forget about it."

"But, Castle, we need to…"

"Not now," Castle interrupted again, an open look his attempt to keep things cordial while he denies her apology again. "We've got more important to worry about right now. Anyway," he continued quickly, noting that Beckett looked to be preparing another objection, "who's Cole?"

"Oh," Beckett answered, realizing that Castle missed the debrief on their target. "I guess you weren't briefed after giving your statement?"

When Castle replied with a shake of his head that made him flinch in discomfort, Beckett sighed and tried to run down the high points: Cole's identity (and his twist of the knife by choosing 'Dunn' as his name during interrogation), the timing of his activities, and the role he plays for the NSA. Castle, of course, looked like a kid at Christmas as she explained Cole's bizarre skills that Castle had somehow figured out.

"No one, including Cole, has mentioned psychometry," Beckett said in conclusion, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, "but that seems to be consistent with what Cole can do. I have no idea how you know this stuff and can't believe I'm saying this, but good job, Castle. Your crazy theory actually panned out."

"As usual," he replied glibly, before raising his hands in a defensive posture.

"The bad news is two-fold," she continued while growing somber. "Cole's breaking down. The Feds have some theory about how his gifts are overwhelming him and making him increasingly unstable. He's become erratic and is looking for a challenge. Unfortunately, he seems to think that – given the steps you've taken in hiding them – finding Alexis and Martha might be just the kind of challenge he's looking for."

Beckett wasn't sure how she expected Castle to react to this news. There were many possibilities: anger, obviously; shame, perhaps at involving his family in something dangerous; aggression, perhaps, if he thought he could end the threat to his family; or even resolve, the commitment to see this challenge through to the end. But, instead, she's surprised to see Castle nod his head in simple acceptance.

"We talked for a bit before he put the 'whammy' on me," Castle confessed. "I didn't know about his breakdown, but that's not too surprising considering the way he handled himself. And his search for a 'challenge' is hardly new or surprising."

"You don't know where Alexis and Martha are, do you?" Beckett asked.

"No," Castle answered with a relieved sigh. "That's not how things work. I set up a system with Fitz, a guy who handles some legal things for me…"

"The Tyson Protocols," Beckett interrupted, "I remember that reference from the call you made before Cole's interrogation."

"Yeah. Remember how shaken up I was after Tyson got the drop on Ryan?" Castle asked rhetorically. "I had a hard time sleeping after that. I kind of realized that I make a great soft target, especially for someone like him. So, my attorney and I worked out a plan for what we'd do if we thought he was poking around." Beckett was shocked, both by Castle's straightforward confession of his fears and by the pragmatic steps he'd taken as a result. It was a humbling realization, considering how much effort she'd put into ignoring her own nightmares from the recent past.

"So, the trick is randomization," Castle continued, unaware of or unwilling to comment on Beckett's mental tangent. "I trust Fitz, so we set up a list of things that he would change if I thought Tyson was sniffing around. Anything I'd usually be able to access is off-limits. I'm on my own until Fitz and I can meet again."

"I assume that not knowing where Fitz is or how to reach him is part of your protocols?"

"Of course," Castle nodded. "We'll meet a week from the day I called him. So, another four or five days, I guess, depending on how long I've been asleep."

"Where?" Beckett asked, starting to think about security and setting up a protective detail to ensure that both Castle and Fitz could complete their rendezvous.

"The US Consulate General in Toronto," Castle answered with a smile. "Someone like Tyson might be able to fake ID somewhere else, but at a security-conscious facility staffed by the US military on the other side of passport control?" he scoffed. "I don't think so. And Cole may be good at his job, but I don't think he'd fare any better. Not that it matters."

Beckett had nodded along with his explanation, impressed by his forethought despite the general whiff of paranoia, until his last comment. "What do you mean, 'not that it matters'?"

"Beckett," Castle asked, waiting until she looked at him to continue. "How often have you tried to get a straight, sensible answer out of me?"

"To a regular question?" she clarified. "A conservative answer would be every single time, with limited success," she suggested with a raised brow.

"What makes you think Dunn, er, Cole would have any more luck?"

Beckett scrunched her brow and considered her partner. After realizing his game, she sighed. "Look, Castle, I already admitted you were right. Cole can touch people and…"

"No, not that," Castle interrupted, shaking his head weakly and reminding Beckett that while he was awake, he was not yet recovered. "Let's try it this way – I'm a writer, right? One that's enjoyed some measure of success with my fictional works?"

"Yes, Castle, that's true. But I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

"To write fiction, you have to…," he trailed off before cocking his head. "Well, when _I_ write fiction," he clarified, "I imagine everything about my characters – their beliefs, their passions, their foibles, everything. Then I build up a whole world they inhabit. It's a work of imagination, of fantasy, and the trick is to accurately describe that world in an interesting way."

"Okay," Beckett allowed, still waiting for Castle to makes his point. "So…"

"So I create worlds and I believe them. If someone peeked into my brain, how would they differentiate between reality and my imagination?"

"You think Cole took a peek and got lost?" she asked with pronounced skepticism.

"I know he did. I've got evidence," Castle answered with a grin. "When he was taunting me about you, he mentioned something that happened to Nikki, not you."

"Castle, that line's been blurred since _Heat Wave_. People at the precinct still make mistakes like that."

"Not like this," Castle argued. "He couldn't tell the difference between the real precinct life and what I've written about Nikki's precinct. Once I realized that, well, it opened up possibilities."

"What, you created an alternative story about what happened to Martha and Alexis?"

"No, I couldn't do that on the fly. But I managed to stir things up quite a bit," he chuckled weakly but proudly. "I mixed actual memories with plots from my books, whether I've used them yet or not. It was a mess."

"I have no doubt," Beckett smiled at her chance to lend support to at least this aspect of Castle's theory.

"It made him angry," Castle continued, dropping some of the frivolity of the moment. "He refocused and… pushed harder, I guess you'd say. That really hurt," Castle admitted, "but it helped, too."

"How so?"

"He's much more obvious when he pushes hard. You guys didn't know what he was doing and put up no defenses, so he slipped in, stole some secrets, and snuck out. But if he's pushing hard or looking for something specific, you can feel it. I couldn't stop him. But I could shove thoughts in front of him, knowing what he was looking for. And if he happened to accept those thoughts as genuine just because he's used to getting his way, then I guess that's his problem, right?"

Beckett sat and stared at her partner for a long moment. What he was suggesting sounded ridiculous, but no more so that the whole notion of psychometry to begin with. And the possibility of devising a defense on the fly, based on Castle's imagination and Cole's hubris? That was so laughably insane as to be…

"Brilliant. That was brilliant, Castle."

Flushed and obviously shocked at her praise, it took him a few moments to formulate a reply. "No need to sound so surprised."

Not rising to the bait, Beckett asked the obvious follow-up question. "So, what thoughts did you feed him?"

"Well, he might be under the impression that Fitz and I are going to meet tomorrow morning," he answered with a coy smile.

"Dare I ask where?"

"Where did you track me down, that very first time?" he asked with a twinkle of remembrance in his eyes.

"You sent him to the New York Public Library?" she asked, shaking her head.

"It's a prominent memory," he shrugged, embarrassed. "It was easy to pull up and put in front of him. Sure, there might be other folks around, but you've got time to get ready for him, right?"

* * *

"No. Absolutely not."

Gates versus Jeffers was shaping up to be the tilt of the century, at least for those with the courage to watch. Ever since Beckett returned to the Precinct with the news that Castle had orchestrated a trap for Cole, the jurisdictional fight between the agents from the NSA and the officers of the NYPD ratcheted higher and higher. Jeffers assumed the NSA would take the lead in retrieving their asset, while Gates steadfastly refused to relinquish control.

"After all," Gates had said, "it's one of ours who was hurt."

"Odd that your missives to 1PP and the mayor's office don't seem to make that point. Ever," Jeffers had replied, not even bothering to smirk when she not only brushed Gates' point aside but also caused more than one of the detectives to glare at the Captain who herself looked disconcerted that her letters of complaint were available to Jeffers, and perhaps others. "In fact, a 'woefully undertrained and undisciplined child' is among the nicer ways you characterized him, I believe?"

"But he's still one of ours," Gates replied frostily, standing her ground.

Ultimately, with great consternation and angst, Beckett brokered a compromise resulting in a joint surveillance effort. Unfortunately, the fragile accord wasn't reached until late afternoon, which meant that the combined team didn't approach 1PP and the mayor's office for until late in the day, efforts being further hampered by the strict sequestration of those involved, lest someone in the know have an unfortunate meeting with Cole. The ensuing arguments and negotiations about whether the Library went well into the night.

Finally, as dawn approached, a motley assortment of NYPD and NSA personnel entered the library through a service dock. Once inside, they immediately began to set up surveillance and map out entry and exit points. The problem with Castle's choice, as noted by Jeffers, was that there was no way to keep civilians out without making it apparent to Cole that something was amiss. As someone who trained him, Jeffers assured all involved that Cole would not be so foolish as to enter under such circumstances. And, of course, they couldn't tell any civilians entering the library that anything was going on, since even a casual bump could convey that information to their target. Fortunately, the Federal remit seems to have trodden over any ethical concerns, though Beckett wonders if the NYPD will be held above reproach should this all go south.

As much as the NYPD might like to complain, though, Jeffers had demonstrated a ruthless efficiency in setting up the operation. With Gates watching close, Jeffers arranged the set-up with an exacting eye for detail. Officers, detectives, or agents were assigned to different places in the library, after a careful inspection of their casual attire. Each person was provided with a story for being in their location and was provided with resources – usually books, magazines, or research materials – that furthered the role camouflage. Finally, with 40 minutes remaining before the library opened its doors to the public, the leadership team made its way to the administrative offices where they could communicate with their staff and keep an eye on surveillance programs.

As much as professional rivalry might encourage her to think otherwise, Beckett recognized competency when she saw it. Jeffers had set the trap at least as effectively as anyone in her group could have managed.

It's too bad that it was all for naught.

"That's it," Jeffers announced a short ten minutes later after receiving a phone call that lasted less than a minute. "We're blown."

"What?" Gates asked in surprise. "The library isn't even open yet!"

"I had Hansen working on the library personnel. Oscar Kemp, the Assistant Director of Facilities Management, didn't show up for his shift this morning."

"And you think Cole got to him?" Beckett follows up, suspecting she knows the answer.

"Standard infiltration protocol," Jeffers replied, her monotone delivery almost faltering to reveal what Beckett might interpret as frustration. "Find someone who knows the layout, security, passageways, communication nodes, and timing of personnel shifts," she explained. "Target someone important but not the head of a department. Those with personal vices – drinking, gambling, anything that puts them in an off-site location or causes furtive behavior is a plus. We covered as many of the library staff as we could last night, but there was no way to cover them all. Kemp was not home last night. Hansen's directing a wellness check now, but I don't expect to find him."

"You think Cole killed him?" Gates asked, looking discomfited that their attempt to snare Cole might've caused an innocent casualty.

"Ordinarily," Jeffers replies after a moment of thought, "no. I would expect to find Kemp sleeping off a bender or awaking in a flophouse. However, considering Cole's increasingly erratic behavior, previous patterns may no longer hold."

"Do you recommend shutting this down?" Beckett asked, growing frustrated that their one, slim lead failed so early.

"No, we will remain," Jeffers replied. "But success is unlikely. Kemp knew nothing of our operation, but he probably knows this library very well. If Cole sees even a single thing amiss, he'll disappear before we even know he was here. So, we wait, maintain the plan, and hope that we got every single detail right."

* * *

While the others settled in to wait, Beckett grew concerned about what Cole might be doing instead of visiting the library and excused herself. She drifted to the far corner of the next room where she was afforded some privacy from her colleagues without worrying about being overheard by those visiting the library, whether they were part of the surveillance effort or not. A short call to the duty sergeant at the 12th precinct had her redirected to the guard on Castle's room at the hospital in less than a minute.

"Officer Brooks," Beckett heard after the call was rerouted, taking only a moment to confirm that she didn't know the guard personally.

"This is Detective Beckett," she introduced herself. "I was calling to make sure there've been no attempted visitors for Rick Castle."

"I don't think so," Officer Brooks replied, sounding nervous.

"What do you mean, you don't think so?" Beckett replied, concern about misdirection from Cole increasing.

"Well," the officer quailed, "we can't find Mister Castle. There's no sign of struggle and all of his things are gone. His doctor said he advised Mister Castle to remain when he asked about when he could leave, but we can't find him."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Beckett suspected that her partner's absence was by design, not deceit. "And how long has he been missing?"

"Well," Brooks temporized again, "I noticed at the shift change, about 20 minutes ago. But the last time we're sure of is when a nurse saw him during rounds at 5:30."

"So, he's been on the move as much as four hours," she said, thinking out loud. "Return to your post, whether Castle turns up or not."

"Ma'am?"

"If Castle's on the move, we need to preserve the illusion that he's still in the hospital," she decided, knowing that she'd need Gates' approval. "He's going to need every advantage he can get."

* * *

A/N: So, it's been a _very_ long time, for which you have my apologies. I knew work obligations would take me out for the first half of the year. And that was crazy; we did more than a year's worth of work in five months. But I didn't expect what followed. If you read Running Water, you might remember a note about a collapsed ceiling that I needed to fix. It wasn't the most aesthetically pleasingly repair, but it was effective. Hurricane Dorian trashed quite a bit, but the ceiling held! If all goes as planned, I'll finish the last of the hurricane clean-up and repairs tomorrow.

Another surprise, and one that will steal my attention for most of my weekends for the next several months, is that my younger daughter is trying her hand at the NCAA recruiting process. How Aalon got anything written while he was in the midst of this craziness is absolutely beyond me!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

 **October 26**

Beckett sighed as she entered the precinct and saw that the chair next to her desk was empty. There'd been no word from Castle all day, not since he left the hospital against medical advice sometime early this morning. Rather than try to track him down, Beckett remained with the rest of the NYPD and NSA staff watching the New York Public Library in the hopes of catching Cole. As Jeffers had predicted, though, Cole never showed. After five hours they admitted defeat and headed back to the 12th precinct to consider their next move. Beckett had hoped to find Castle here waiting at the precinct, maybe even with coffee in hand, even though she knew such a scenario was unlikely.

"Conference room in ten minutes," Gates called out as she walked by Beckett, Ryan, and Esposito. While the boys – who were still clearly not entirely comfortable with each other following the secrets that Cole exposed – huffed in resignation, Beckett hustled away from her desk. While they likely suspected she was off to feed her caffeine habit (and that would've been a welcome trip), she had a different destination in mind.

"Tory?" Beckett called out after quickly navigating through the precinct while taking a route likely to lose or confuse any NSA agents watching her. "Do you have a few minutes? I'd like to see the precinct surveillance tapes from this morning."

Tory, bless her, launched into action even while she looked confused. Beckett knew she couldn't do much to track down Castle, thanks to the "Tyson Protocols" he concocted with his attorney, but there were a few leads to check. Especially since she had a nagging feeling that the timing of his departure from the hospital wasn't coincidental…

"I'm afraid it's going to take at least twenty minutes, maybe longer," Tory admitted as she clicked through several screens on her computer. "Do you want a dump of everything or is there something on which you want me to focus?"

Beckett glanced quickly at her watch before admitting to herself that she couldn't be twenty minutes late to Gates' meeting. With another quick calculation, she decided to trust Tory and ask for exactly what she wanted. "I need to know if Castle came into the precinct this morning. He would've been here between 5:30 and 9:00, probably closer to around 7:00," she guessed, extrapolating how long it would've taken to get here and when he'd have the best chance of not being noticed by the staff who were diverted to the Library. "If he was here, I need to know where he went or what he did."

"Is he missing again?!" Tory asked worriedly, before blushing and looking down at her keyboard.

 _Interesting_ , Beckett thought, slightly unsettled.

"I don't think so," Beckett allowed, "though we've lost contact with him. I'm trying to track him down."

Tory, head still bowed, nodded and returned to clicking at her computer. "Do you want me to bring whatever I find to you or do you want to come back for it?"

Despite the odd conversation, Beckett smiled. Whatever else might be said of her, Tory was as sharp as the detectives she helped. "Will you swing by when you have something? If it makes sense, I'll wave you in. Otherwise, I'll come back after my next meeting."

* * *

"So, was our surveillance blown or was the whole NYPL set-up a ruse by Mister Castle?"

Agent Jeffers' opening question put the NYPD detectives immediately on the defensive.

"How could you say that?" Beckett countered, offended on behalf of her partner. "Castle's the only one who figured Cole out. And now you think he's protecting that maniac?"

"Unless," Gates interjected before Jeffers can answer, "you have reason to believe that Cole's skills would enable him to compromise Mister Castle?"

"No," Jeffers answered quietly, unaffected by Beckett's anger or Gates' icy insinuation. "I was suggesting neither of those theories. As to the first, I don't expect Mister Castle would knowingly or willingly protect Cole. Quite the opposite. And," she continued, turning her focus from Beckett to Gates, "Cole's skills do not allow him to subvert the will of his targets, merely to learn their secrets. That could, of course, lead to indirect control through blackmail," she said slightly airily, making it clear that the NSA has used this approach, "but there is nothing in the dynamic with Mister Castle to suggest such has happened here."

"Besides," Jeffers added with her monotone delivery, though with an ever so slight quirk to her lips, "blackmail works when the target fears exposure. Mister Castle's foibles are already rather public."

Irritated at the shot at her partner, Beckett tried to move the conversation along. "So, why did you insinuate Castle's lead about the NYPL was bogus?"

Before Jeffers could respond, the answer came from an unexpected source as Espo provided a simple, short answer while cutting a fierce look at his partner: "Trust."

Jeffers nodded but the others at the table simply turned to the detective for a more fulsome explanation.

"Look, what's important to Castle?" Espo starts, slightly uncomfortable being the center of attention given the current fissures in his working group and the presence of the Feds. "His daughter and his mom. That's it," he says with finality, though he can't help but look quickly at Beckett. "So, he's doing whatever he can to find and protect them."

"Alone?" Ryan interjected. "That doesn't make any sense. If he wants to find them, it'd be faster with our help."

"Says the stalker who wants to bone Castle's daughter," Espo grumbled in reply, softly but still easily within audibility of everyone in the room.

"Stop it," Beckett said repressively. "Save that crap for partner's counseling. We're trying to find Cole."

"But this is the point, Detective Beckett," Jeffers replied, regaining the attention of the group. "Cole excels at disrupting group dynamics and sowing distrust. Considering what Cole revealed or claimed to reveal about each of you," she said with a nod towards the detectives, "it's not hard to imagine that Mister Castle might prefer to work alone. He clearly has the resources and connections to pursue this without assistance, as well as some clout to attempt to navigate the consequences of operating without jurisdiction or authorization. In those circumstances, it's not unreasonable to consider that the NYPL stake-out was contrived to enable him to slip unaccompanied from the hospital."

Beckett didn't like the implications of Jeffers' theory, but she had to grudgingly admit the possibility. In the past, she's fairly confident Castle wouldn't have pursued such an approach. But, considering how rocky things had been between the partners since her shooting and isolated recovery, the foundation of trust between them had eroded. Add in Cole's lies about her not thinking about Castle over the summer, and it's not so difficult to imagine Castle deciding to act alone.

Depressed, she looked at Espo and Ryan only to see that they, too, seemed to be ruminating on Jeffers' theory. Then, almost as if called by her thoughts, Beckett noticed Tory lingering within view of the conference room. Considering the possibility that this would be a good time for a mental regroup, Beckett waved her in to provide a slight break in the proceedings.

"I've got the footage you requested," Tory offered when the group's collective attention focused on her entry. "He was here this morning."

"Mister Castle?" Jeffers asked, getting a nod in reply. "Show us, please."

It took only a few minutes for Tory to plug her laptop into a display in the corner of their conference room, pulling up a quartered image that showed the feeds from four different security cameras within the precinct. Then, after a few minutes, she began her presentation.

"The timestamp is at the top of each image. I've focused on the main cameras with footage of Castle, but there are others if you need to see everything. He first shows up here," she says, pointing to the upper left quadrant, "at 6:53. He entered through the front door, went past the security desk, and was waved in by the desk sergeant. Then," she says, pointing to the upper right quadrant, "he took the stairs up to Homicide. He paused on the stairs, then proceeded to Detective Beckett's work area. Here," she pointed to the lower left quadrant, "you can see that he poked around for a while, before, ummm, opening Detective Beckett's desk and, ahhh, extracting a folder of documents."

The reasons for Tory's stuttering were clear to everyone in the room without needing to look at Beckett's signs of rising ire. First, what Tory described as 'opening her desk' could've also been described as 'jimmying the lock to her desk.' And as far as the 'extracting a folder of documents,' that description excluded the process, shown on the tape, of Castle withdrawing the false bottom of the desk drawer to reveal the concealed documents.

And while Beckett looked offended, Gates looked both troubled and intrigued by Mister Castle's criminality and Beckett's furtive filing.

"Castle flips through the documents, closes up the desk, and leaves with the folder," Tory continued, finally pointing to the last quadrant. "He exited the building through the fire stairs at 7:11, eighteen minutes after he entered. The last footage we have, which I'm not displaying here, shows him hailing cab number 1974 and heading east away from the precinct."

"Thank you, Miss Ellis. Will you please leave the laptop? I'll have you notified when our meeting concludes," Gates dismissed Tory, who looked somber at having provided the footage that was likely to get Castle into serious trouble.

Once Tory left, Gates turned immediately to Beckett. "What was in the file?"

With a heavy sigh, Beckett released thoughts of dissembling. "My case notes from the Delbruck, Hilltop, and Kemp cases. I suspected that our case files might 'disappear' if Castle's hunch about federal participation proved true and wanted to have a hard copy."

"So, you withheld evidence," Jeffers summarized crossly.

"Of course not. You have all my electronic files. And I haven't seen a subpoena," Beckett replied undaunted. "Failing to voluntarily offer redundant information isn't a crime."

"Perhaps not, but it's poor form and shows…" Jeffers began before Gates interrupted the brewing fight.

"Why would Castle take the file?" she asked to return to the issue at hand. "You've worked with him for years and know better than anyone else what Mister Castle is up to. What's he doing?"

"I think…," Beckett answered with a pause as she formulated and confirmed her theory in her mind, "I think Espo was right, but wrong, too. Alexis and Martha are the key to what happens now, that's right. But Cole wanted a challenge, a race between him and Castle to see who could find the redheads first. I don't think Castle's trying to find his girls, though. I think the race is really to see if Cole can find the ladies before Castle finds him."

* * *

Beckett's theory provided a new way to approach Cole's recapture, but one that offered few concrete steps for how to proceed: how to guess how Castle would guess to track Cole? Finding Cole alone was a project for several members of the joint team, but trying to figure out how Castle would go about the same task was another avenue of pursuit.

Unfortunately, the process of following these leads showed that the divisive comments Cole made to Beckett's team were continuing to fester. While Beckett resolutely clung to her strategy of strict compartmentalization, neither Ryan nor Esposito could refrain from looks or comments of recrimination or rationalization.

Finally, Gates had to step in and assign tasks as if Beckett's team was filled with rookies rather than seasoned veterans. Beckett, obviously, was assigned to the 'Finding Castle' team, following Gates' early comment about Beckett having the most insight into her partner. To split up the currently dysfunctional partners, Espo joined Beckett while Ryan was assigned to join Agent Hansen on the 'Finding Cole' team. As usual, Agent Hansen showed no reaction to this assignment; Ryan, meanwhile, seemed anxious to provide Espo with a chance to cool down.

After confirming the assignments with Jeffers, Gates excused herself to call Tory about the laptop, check in with 1PP about the lingering presence of the Feds in her building, and tend to the rest of the precinct's operations that had the discourtesy to require attention in the midst of such a trying homicide case.

All thoughts of those tasks fled her mind, however, when she saw the desk sergeant outside her office tending to a visitor. A visitor Gates hadn't seen in a long while and hadn't called until just two days ago.

"Liz," Gates greeted her sister, nodding to the desk sergeant to release him back to his station. He was only too eager to flee the painful awkwardness that had quickly developed between the two sisters.

"Please, come into my office," Gates finally managed, removing the spectacle from the corridor if not clearing the tension.

Once Gates closed her office door, she took a deep breath and began walking to her desk. Midway, she paused, screwed up her courage, and embraced her sister. The hug was over before her sister could react, but the woman was clearly surprised by the overture.

"Ah, is it always this busy around here?" Liz Weston asked, waving to the general commotion on the fourth floor and providing the sisters with fodder to start talking to each other.

"The Feds have an asset with supernatural powers who slipped his leash, went on a thrill-killing spree in my precinct, was captured, then escaped federal custody again, and is currently focused on targeting the family of one of my people. I haven't been head of this precinct for very long, but I don't think this is a usual occurrence. At least, I hope not."

Liz Weston looked at her sister in open-mouthed shock. Victoria was never one for jokes, but neither was she one who would believe in 'supernatural government agents' or blithely describing multiple homicides.

"Ah, okay?" Liz managed after a few attempts to speak. "Just don't expect me to try the case once you catch him."

Gates assessed her sister with raised brows for a long moment before she chuckled. Her laughter seemed to open the floodgates as the laughs that followed provided some catharsis from the pressures of the last few days. Even better, her sister joined the laughter.

"You've lightened up a bit," Liz noted once they had calmed down. "I don't remember laughter being a big part of your professional demeanor."

"Nor yours," Gates replied without heat, getting a nod of acknowledgment in return. "To be honest, while I'm usually pretty serious, I've had to stifle myself even more since coming to this precinct. There's someone here who would be an even bigger distraction if I admitted to finding him amusing."

"Well, it looks good on you. You should laugh more often," Liz suggested with a small smile.

But the grin slipped from her face as Gates visibly grew somber. Clearly steeling herself, Gates slowly turned to the matter that prompted her to finally reach out to her sister.

"It's going to get increasingly difficult to laugh," Gates began slowly. "I got some bad news earlier this week."

"I thought so," Liz agreed. "Your message had me… worried."

Gates nodded while trying to pick her words carefully. "On the advice of someone I encountered on a recent case, I went in for a health check-up. There are still tests to be done and other diagnoses that need to be eliminated, but at this point my physician cannot rule out that recent changes in my cognitive abilities are the result of early-stage Alzheimer's disease."

Liz looked disturbed by this admission, but furrowed her brow. "I didn't think there was a definitive test for Alzheimer's. What makes you think you have it?"

"I've forgotten some case details lately. It wasn't a significant issue and I attributed it to the stress of my new position, but it is also consistent with AD onset," Gates began. "I also had a lipoprotein scan that revealed the APOE allele."

"But that doesn't prove anything!" Liz objected. "People with a positive APOE test don't necessarily develop AD," she replied, showing a surprising amount of knowledge about the disease. "And forgetting a few details when starting a new job is hardly a sign of cognitive decline! Hell, I can't keep all the details of my cases straight and I'm a damn fine lawyer. That's why we have people who work for us! Why are you so worried about this?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous," Gates admitted quietly. "And trust me, I really don't want to believe it. But I know it's true."

"You can't just _know_ something like that," her sister dismissed.

"Haven't you ever gotten a feeling and just known it's right? You still do what you need to do to prove it's true, but you know as you're going along that you're just being thorough?" she asked, getting a very hesitant and halting nod in return. "That's what this is. I can _feel_ it, Liz. I know the diagnostic methods aren't definitive and that my signs are not enough to confirm a diagnosis on their own. But I _know_."

Liz sat quietly as she digested this statement. It seemed very out of character for her staid sister, or at least what she remembered of her sister before their estrangement. And wasn't Alzheimer's hereditary? While her parentage suggested elevated risks for other issues, AD wasn't among them.

Though the sisters pursued different careers, both were bright and tenacious. So, it only took Liz several long moments before she made the connection. "This person who suggested you see your doctor – was it your 'supernatural' killer?"

When it became apparent that Gates was trying to figure out a way to answer in the affirmative, Liz just scoffed. "Come on! What happened to my sister? You are the most logical, pragmatic person I've ever known. Why on earth do you start believing in the bogeyman now?! This is _ridiculous_ , sis."

Gates looked shock at her sister's characterization, but was even more surprised by the "sis" appellation. It'd been a _very_ long time since she heard Liz to refer to her that way.

"His victims were suffering from Alzheimer's," Gates confessed. "That's how he found them and that's why he killed them. We had him in hand before he slipped away from the Feds again. And while we had him, he warned me to put my affairs in order before I lost the ability to do so."

"Scare tactics," Liz dismissed easily. "You think we don't see the same thing? You catch them and I try them. These people fling threats like the Jets throw interceptions," she said with a small smile while taking a dig at their father's favorite team of perennial losers. "Why does this one have you so rattled?"

"I can honestly say that I've never met a killer like this one," Gates replied in a low whisper. "Based on what he's done, and what else he knows, I don't think I've ever met a more daunting adversary."

"So, catch him quickly," Liz replied in a tone of encouragement, though her eyes made her dismay at her sister's outlook apparent. "Once he's in lock-up, things will look better."

"I don't think that how this story will end," Gates confessed. "He's becoming increasingly unstable, more resources are being called in, we've got a rogue consultant involved…," she explained as if talking to herself. Then, shocking her sister by raising her bowed head and looking her straight in the eye. "He won't let himself be recaptured. This will end soon, and it'll be messy and terrifying when it does."

* * *

AN: Look at that! It might not have arrived before Halloween, but it took less than six months for this update. And, I post this from the last softball event of the year, so I'll soon get my weekends back. Speaking of softball, I need to do one quick shout-out. Back in HOWE, I mentioned a museum in Oslo and was shocked that people from there replied. So, in case that might happen a little closer to home: if anyone works at or has friends at the VCU Emergency Center, please give them a big pat on the back from me. My daughter Yeliched her knee a couple weeks ago and we ended up at VCU. It was as pleasant, stress-free, and professional an ER as I've encountered or imagined. A really tough job and they handle it with aplomb.

Also, there's an underlying theme woven through this story that I'll explain upon conclusion. There's an uncatchable reference in this chapter that made me smile, so if I don't later explain it, call me on it.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: If you're interested in this story, you might want to wait until more chapters are ready. I post this because it's been so long since I've updated, but my writing time is limited in the near future. More below.

* * *

oo0oo

 **October 27**

Castle startled awake and groaned. It took him several long moments to remember why he was sprawled in a sleeping bag on the concrete floor and several longer moments (accompanied by low groans and winces) to lever himself into a sitting position. To be fair, he couldn't remember laying down, but he did manage to recall his current situation and the reasons he was in this forsaken place.

Once the room stopped spinning, he crawled over to the CVS bag that contained his meager supplies. Well, his medicinal supplies and snacks. He'd completely lost yesterday – sneaking out of the hospital was a bad idea, in retrospect. He'd had such plans but ended up barely able to secure access to this place and pick up a few basics before he nearly collapsed. He'd have to prioritize visiting some of the shadier 'guys he knows' later today to stock up on the essentials for his plan. It's highly unlikely that Cole spent enough time in Castle's head to unearth his connection to them, especially as Castle himself hadn't thought of some of them for years…

Still, those supplies weren't his biggest concern. In his time around Beckett's team, he'd picked up some comfort with firearms and even some munitions. Sure, he didn't think he could recreate the dirty bomb that had he and Beckett tearing through the city, but the surprises he was planning for Cole are well within his grasp. If not for the fact that the maniac was trying to hunt down his family, Castle might actually have some fun with this. After all, if Kevin McCallister could defend his house from two criminals, certainly a well-established mystery novelist could deal with just one?

But the young protagonist from _Home Alone_ had one advantage that Castle desperately wanted: home field advantage. Sure, he'd figured out a location to use for a trap and was confident that Cole hadn't gotten near this memory. And yes, something _very_ memorable happened here, but considering how things stand between he and Beckett, revisiting that memory was painful. So, he stayed away from it even without the prompting from a psychometric psychopath.

After downing more Tylenol and aspirin and washing it back with some kind of disgusting sports drink ( _red is supposed to be a color, not a flavor_ ), Castle rose and started inspecting his location again. This, at least, was a good idea. The facility is nearly perfect for an ambush – which is exactly the improvised use Lockwood originally tried last year. And while it's not quite his home field, Castle'd had one melee here and came out on top. So, not the worst option.

No, he sighed to himself, the location wasn't the problem. The trick was how to lure Cole here. Ordinarily, that would be tough enough, considering that anyone involved in the plan was a liability – Cole could just brush up against them, read the plan, and either bail out (as Castle'd heard had happened at the NYPL stakeout) or, worse, use the purloined tactical knowledge to turn the situation to his advantage.

But the confidence that ran so high as he snuck out of the hospital and paid his surreptitious visit to the Precinct ebbed now. Castle realized, with a sigh, that he was in over his head.

But to whom could he turn?

Beckett? No, that wouldn't work. Cole would certainly suspect her. More, as much as he hated to admit it, Castle didn't trust her with this. Even before Cole played his mind games, she wasn't a hundred percent. And though it made him feel like a heel, Castle admitted that he wasn't comfortable trusting the wellbeing of his family on the strained relationship with his partner.

Espo and Ryan? No, they were out, too. Like Beckett, either would be an obvious choice for Cole to intercept. And, while his working relationship with them didn't suffer over the summer of Beckett's absence, the things Cole revealed about them left Castle with lingering doubts. Oddly, he almost felt the most affinity for Espo, the one who was least likely to treat him well. Plus, Espo had some technical training that could come in handy. But, with his and Ryan's partnership on rocky terrain, Castle wasn't willing to risk the distraction.

No, Castle slowly admitted to himself, there was only one option. Even if it was a disturbing one.

* * *

oo0oo

"Hey, Beckett, I'm going for a coffee run. You want anything?"

Beckett looked up from the files that were taunting her. Her efforts on the "finding Castle" team were as disturbing as they were ineffectual. So far, she'd "enjoyed" brief conversations with _both_ of Castle's ex-wives. And, because she clearly ticked off some deity, she also drew the assignment to contact Kyra Murphy nee Blaine, another ghost from Castle's past. _That_ call was even more stilted than her talks with Doctor Burke.

 _Crap_ , she realized. Doctor Burke – she'd completely forgotten her last appointment with him. Not that she'd figured out how to explain Cole's foray into mind to her therapist. Perhaps caffeine would help.

"Yes, I'd love…," she started to answer before looking up to see Ryan cutting his eyes to the stairwell. After a quick pause, she amended her answer. "Actually, I could use the chance to stretch my legs. How about I join you. Espo, you in?"

Espo, who'd been studiously ignoring Ryan's appearance, stubbornly refused to lift his head and replied only with a terse "No."

Beckett retrieved her pocketbook from her desk and rose to her feet while ignoring Ryan's defeated look. Soon, they were headed down the stairs, taking the quickest route out of the building. Minutes later they were walking down the sidewalk. Had anyone bothered to pay them attention, they would have been surprised by the two who talked in low voices while carefully navigating to make sure no one could surprise them by reaching out to touch them.

"Look, Ryan," Beckett started after they'd dodged around several people, actually stepping into the street to maintain a safe distance, "you just need to give Espo some time…"

"That's not why I wanted to talk," Ryan replied. "We'll work it out or we won't. But we need to find Castle."

"That's my team's job," she answered. "I thought you were working on the 'finding Cole' team?"

"Yeah," Ryan nodded, "but something's not right. Actually," he laughed with a chuckle while rubbing the back of his head, "maybe it's best Espo's not here. I don't think he'd listen to what I've found."

"You've found something? About Cole?"

"Yeah, but not about where he's going. Where he's been," Ryan answers. Beckett, meanwhile, finds herself wondering if her teammate learned how to draw out a story from her wayward partner. A gesture and a raised eyebrow prompted him to continue.

"I've been working on Cole's backstory. At least, that's what I've been working on when Hansen isn't paying attention." Another chuckle, this time shared by Beckett. "Anyway, his story doesn't make much sense. There's no record – nothing, not even a parking ticket – before the Feds got their hands on him."

"With what he can do, he was probably pretty good at avoiding any trouble."

"Or," Ryan disagreed, "maybe he wasn't doing anything wrong."

"Kevin, the Feds caught him stealing!" Beckett objected.

"Sure," he answered. "But they didn't tell us he was donating everything he took."

"What?" Beckett exclaimed as she stuttered to a halt. "Cole doesn't seem much like the Robin Hood type."

"But that's just it – back then, he was," Ryan continued the story and their walk to the coffee shop. "Cole's life is unexceptional until about six year ago. Remember that big accident during the ice storm in the winter back then, the multi-car pile-up on the Jersey Turnpike? Cole was right in the middle of it. Five people died; he was one of the 16 with injuries. That looks like it was the turning point for him. After that, he got involved. He volunteered, coached, and – when a local boy with leukemia needed financial assistance – he started his financial scamming that got him pinched. And, even then, he only stole from bad folks, the ones that got the NSA interested in the first place."

"What in the hell did the Feds do to him?" Beckett quietly wondered. "I can't even imagine the guy we had in Interrogation as a civic-minded volunteer. How did he end up a monster? I mean, come on! Are you telling me he went from coaching tee-ball to performing amateur autopsies on his homicide victims?!"

"Basketball, actually, not tee-ball."

"Oh. That explains it then," Beckett answered with an eye roll. "I guess the question is, how does this help us find him? Or Castle?"

"It doesn't," Ryan replied. "It just makes things worse." At Beckett's inquisitive look, he elaborated. "Think about it: the Feds did _something_ to make Cole what he is. Remember what he told Castle in interrogation – he didn't recognize Castle's reference to Buchanan's theories on psychometry. But I bet Jeffers and Hansen recognized it. They've got the transcript, remember? And if they did that to Cole, what do you think they'll do to Castle for figuring it out?"

* * *

oo0oo

 **October 28**

"Detective Beckett, in my office please."

Beckett cut a quick look at Captain Gates and nodded in acknowledgment. At his desk, Espo sent a quick, inquisitive look but Beckett only shrugged in reply. To be honest, she was happy with the distraction. She'd gotten no further in trying to track down her partner. Ryan's concerns from yesterday did not help, as they occupied her thoughts after prompting another panic attack the previous afternoon. At least there weren't many people in the precinct at that hour, and she was confident that no one recognized her distress as she made her way to a locked bathroom stall.

"Give her hell," Espo offered in a low tone as Beckett stood to make her way to Gates' office. With a short bark of a laugh, Beckett nodded in thanks for lifting her mood.

"Close the door, please," Gates greeted as Beckett entered. She then remained resolutely quiet while Beckett did so and made her way to the visitor's chair. Beckett was somewhat unnerved – unlike usual, Gates wasn't looking at the papers on her desk. She stared resolutely as Beckett moved into place, then continued to stare once Beckett was seated.

"Detective Beckett," Gates finally broke her silence, "do you know why they wanted me as Captain of the 12th?"

 _Danger! Danger!_ Beckett took a few moments to consider her reply, discarding her first several thoughts as impolitic in the extreme. "Because you're qualified. You're a role-model. You've got the experience and the savvy to manage."

Gates loosed an uncharacteristic smirk upon her subordinate's conclusion. "You're learning. That was a nice blend of flattery and caution. But it's not the right answer."

Beckett furrowed her brow, both at the Gates' statement and her unusual demeanor.

"I'm at the 12th because of my time in Internal Affairs. Even if we still don't know the _full_ story," she said while leveling a fierce look at the detective, "we know Montgomery was involved in something he shouldn't have been. So, the brass at 1PP wanted someone from IA on the scene, both to poke around and to contribute to the perception of control in case anyone started questioning the Montgomery situation."

Though she was uncomfortable with the notion of Gates digging around into Montgomery's past, she nodded. It was a surprisingly rational justification for Gates' assignment, far more than she'd come to expect from the Commissioner's office or the NYPD bureaucracy in general.

"But that's not why I wanted the job," Gates continued. "There aren't many female captains. Sure, getting the nod is something I wanted for myself for a long time. But the bonus was getting the opportunity to groom another."

This time Beckett offered not a nod but a look of shock in reply to her boss' comment.

"Yes, there are people who've watched your career and have hopes for how high you could rise. I won't lie," Gates continued, confident that Beckett was highly attentive, "your shooting was a setback. Not a permanent one, but one that would've delayed the timeline. But, we can't wait any longer. I'm not going to be here as long as I'd hoped, so we need to start working hard on your professional development."

"Are you moving to another precinct? Or maybe to 1PP?" Beckett added, wondering if Gates, too, had caught the attention of the NYPD higher-ups.

"No," Gates replied, sounding somber. "I'm not sure how much longer I can expect to keep working. We need to take advantage of my time here while we can."

Gates' tone, her look, her posture – all of it screamed out to Beckett. The only conclusion wasn't a comfortable one.

"Is this…," she paused, wondering about overstepping professional boundaries with someone who'd just expressed an interest in helping her, "Is this about what Cole said?"

* * *

oo0oo

It was late in the day when Captain Gates finally took her leave from the precinct. The conversation with Beckett had proved utterly exhausting. First, she had to fend off Beckett's objections about believing Cole's comments regarding her health. These mirrored what she'd already heard and dismissed from her sister, except the conversation with Beckett was far more stilted and halting due to the captain/detective power dynamic.

Then, once they moved on to Beckett's professional development, the day became even more taxing. For a crack detective, Beckett was shockingly obtuse about political realities and the balancing act required to run a precinct. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the most shocking aspect of that training involved Mr. Castle. As much as Gates disliked having the writer foisted upon her, there was a certain karmic reckoning when Beckett realized that Castle's presence created an aegis shield for her team, earning the favor of her superiors by facilitating positive stories and news coverage for the NYPD. Apparently, Beckett had been laboring under the delusion that she was somehow doing the world a favor by putting up with the writer when doing so had demonstrable benefits for both her own career and the 12th as a whole.

That moment of sweet realization was drowned out by the rest of the afternoon's session. Still, as tiring as it proved to be, Gates was glad to have done it. Beckett might be woefully naïve now, but she's clearly intelligent and a quick learner. A few more intense sessions and some oversight in her remaining time… yes, Gates was confident she could have Beckett on the right trajectory before things became too bleak. She might not have the time to enjoy the position herself, Gates accepted fatalistically, but at least should could ensure that the seat would be well-filled after her departure.

With these admittedly dire thoughts as company, Gates didn't pay much attention to her drive home. She chastised herself, remembering that Cole was still on the loose, but that admonition didn't last beyond two red lights before she returned to her maudlin, meandering thoughts.

Her old habits kicked in as she pulled her car to a stop, letting the engine whir and click while she collected her belongings and wits. She exited the vehicle and moved with a purpose. Something seemed amiss, though. She thought momentarily about calling for backup before dismissing the thought, less than the potential embarrassment of a false alarm, she decided against providing a distraction. Besides, Cole had already told her that she didn't have long, so why would he bother to shorten her time even further?

Her hand flew to the service weapon on her hip as she saw a note taped to the handle of her door. From several steps away, she could read the large block letters that spelled out "Please don't shoot me!"

Wondering about the missive, she heard a cough off to the side. Spinning in place, she was surprised to see who stepped around the corner of her building, moving slowly with hands raised to avoid startling her.

"Mister Castle?"

"Hello, sir," Castle replied, leaving his hands in the air. "I was hoping we could talk. I need a favor."

* * *

oo0oo

A/N2: Hello again! I hope you're all doing well in lockdown. As for me, I'm going a little stir crazy cooped up inside while the weather's been very blah. My work hasn't slowed at all (and is ramping up), which doesn't always feel like the blessing I know it to be. On the plus side, there's 20 percent less of me than there was for my last posting - nothing like a quarantine to help enforce the diet.

As for the glacial pace of my updates, sorry about that. I'll finish this story, but as I mentioned at the top, it might be better to hold off on reading until I post the last bits. Probably just a couple chapters after this one.


End file.
